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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


ROBERT  ERNEST  COWAN 


California 


in 


Boston 


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van 

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VIRES     PUBLISHING     COMPANY 


•es    L.brary.  N.Y    NN    Vol  I    June    20,1891 
monthly  Entered  at  th.  Po.t  Office  at  NewYort,  as  Second  £. 


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I  SWEAR. 


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fl  cwimJu. 


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I   SWBAR. 


FRANK    H.    POWKR'S, 


OF 

CALIFORNIA. 


Entered  in  the  Post  Office,  New   York,  as  Second  Class  Matter,  etc. 


NEW  YORK : 

VIRES  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 
39  NASSAU  STREET. 

1891. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  by  Vires  Publishing  Co.,  1891. 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED. 


1? 


PROLOGUE 


FROM  the  time  of  the  treaty  of  Hopewell  in  1785,  up  to  about  the  mid- 
dle of  the  present  century,  the  Cherokee  Nation  of  Indians  was  one  of  the 
few  tribes  that  never  had  been  conquered  by  the  United  States  ;  her 
chiefs  carried  on  their  little  scheme  of  civilization  in  the  northern  portion 
of  Georgia,  "  the  world  unheeding,  by  the  world  forgot." 

But  as  Georgia  developed  her  resources,  the  pushing  American  settler 
began  to  scheme  to  obtain  for  himself  the  Indian  lands.  The  first  direct 
attack  came  when  the  Legislature  of  Georgia  annulled  the  Indian  laws, 
and  attempted  to  extend  the  State's  jurisdiction  over  the  homes  of  the 
innocent  and  trusting  Cherokees. 

At  this  time  there  were  four  chiefs  —  all  of  the  Brooke  dynasty.     The 

aged  head  chief  was  known  to  the  whites  as  Major  Brooke,  and  with  him 

there   were  three   subordinates  :  Cheecatolavvry,    a  younger   brother   of 

Major  Brooke's  father  ;  John   Craig,    a  Scotchman,  who  had  originally 

come  into  the  nation  as  a  fur  trader,  but  who  had  finally  married  Major 

[S  Brooke's  only  daughter  ;  and  John  Brooke,  the  Major's  son,  a  young  man 

*—of  sterling  worth.     Through  the  influence  of  the  missionaries,  especially 


Father  Gambol,  a  grand  old  priest,  who  had  spent  almost  a  life- 
§  time  in  the  nation,  the  Major  was  induced  to  send  many  of  the  brighter 
OS  youths  to  the  Indian  school  at  Cornwall,  Connecticut.  Father  Gambol 
—  *had  himself  prepared  John  Brooke  for  Harvard  College  ;  in  fact,  John  was 
2^a  student  at  Cambridge  about  the  time  the  Georgia  Legislature  attempted 
3£  to  invade  the  Nation's  rights. 

Major  Brooke  was  far-sighted  enough  to  realize  that  Georgia's  action 
indicated  that  civilization  had  marked  out  his  nation's  happy  hunting 
ground  for  its  prey  With  him  also  the  more  intelligent  Indians  understood 
that  they  would  in  time  be  forced  to  leave  their  lands,  as  other  tribes  had 
been,  and  that  it  would  be  wise  to  obtain  from  Congress  other  territory  in 
the  far  West,  and  to  peaceably  occupy  it,  rather  than  attempt  to  hold  their 
present  homes  ;  but  the  majority,  with  their  instinctive  love  for  the  hunting 
grounds  of  their  fathers,  favored  remaining  on  their  present  lands,  and 
defending  them  if  necessary,  even  with  their  lives. 

The  whites  were  attempting  various  expedients  to  effect  their  removal, 
There  was  a  general  feeling  of  uneasiness  throughout  the  nation.  It  was 
arranged  to  call  a  meeting  of  the  Great  Council. 


302410 


io  PROLOGUE. 

After  a  stormy  discussion,  the  Council  decided  to  send  Major  Brooke  to 
Washington,  to  attempt  to  gain  permission  to  retain  their  lands,  and,  in 
the  event  of  a  failure,  to  obtain  the  best  agreement  possible  from  the 
"Great  Father." 

As  soon  as  the  old  Major  was  gone,  the  scheming  craft  of  the  Scotch- 
man began  to  work.  He  saw  that  Brooke  would  be  compelled  to  be  the 
bearer  of  a  proposition  to  give  up  their  old  homes  and  haunts,  and  the 
associations  so  dear  to  the  Indians.  He  saw,  also,  that  if  he  could  incite  a 
revolt,  and  be  the  leader  of  it,  he  would  be  in  almost  absolute  control  of 
the  Nation.  So  he  cultivated  the  friendship  of  the  wildest  and  most 
savage  of  the  Indians,  in  order  to  place  himself  in  a  position  to  plant  the 
seeds  of  suspicion,  hatred,  and  revenge  in  their  breasts  when  an  opportune 
moment  should  arrive. 

The  old  Major  was  gone  nearly  a  year,  and  returned  almost  heart- 
broken, for  the  "  Great  Father  '  at  Washington  had  assured  him  that 
unless  the  Cherokees  agreed  to  give  up  their  possessions,  the  government 
of  the  United  States  would  be  compelled  to  drive  them  out  by  force  of 
arms.  However,  he  had  obtained  a  promise  to  give  them,  in  payment,  an 
immense  tract  of  land  in  the  Indian  Territory,  containing  about  five  mil- 
lion acres  of  very  fertile  soil.  The  title  to  the  land  was  to  be  in  the  name 
of  the  chiefs,  to  be  held  by  them  as  trustees  for  the  Cherokee  Indians  and 
their  descendants. 

Again  was  the  Great  Council  called.  Again  were  the  heads  of  families 
invited  to  be  present.  Again  did  John  Craig  incite  the  wilder  spirits  to 
resist.  Again  did  old  Major  Brooke  make  a  noble  speech,  advising  them 
to  act  with  discretion,  and  with  an  eye  to  their  ultimate  and  substantial 
good. 

John  Brooke  had  now  returned  permanently  to  his  nation.  Already  he 
had  shown  them  how  to  use  the  plow,  and  various  other  civilized  devices 
for  easy  cultivation  of  the  land,  and  had  greatly  assisted  in  modeling 
their  institutions  and  developing  their  laws.  He  now  arose  and  made  a 
masterly  oration,  advising  them  to  start  a  new  nation,  and,  succumbing  to 
the  inevitable,  to  commence  life  anew,  and  make  for  themselves  thrifty 
homes,  after  the  style  and  ways  of  the  white  man. 

The  opinion  of  the  Brooke  party  was  finally  accepted,  Craig  taking 
great  pains  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  it  was  a  Brooke  idea. 

The  old  Major  and  four  of  the  head  men  were  detailed  to  arrange  the 
terms  of  settlement,  with  two  commissioners  appointed  by  the  "<yreat 
Father." 

A  treaty  was  finally  settled  upon.  Immediately  after  it  was  definitely 
arranged  that  his  nation  was  to  be  removed  to  the  far  West,  John  Brooke 


PROLOGUE.  n 

returned  to  Boston,  and  married  Miss  Annie  Northrop,  a  lady  of  many 
gracious  charms  and  most  religious  instincts.  She  had  met  him  while  he 
was  a  student  at  Harvard,  and  her  love  for  him,  combined  with  her  desire 
to  elevate  an  untutored  race,  made  her  determine  to  live  with  her  husband 
in  the  new  Cherokee  Nation,  and  to  try  to  lead  the  Indians  to  civilization 
by  setting  them  a  worthy  example. 

In  pursuance  of  this  philanthropic  scheme,  John  Brooke  was  among  the 
first  to  settle  in  the  new  territory.  He  brought  with  him  all  the  modern 
implements  of  husbandry,  built  for  himself  a  modern  house,  and  in  a  short 
time  reared  a  handsome  property.  In  addition,  he  surveyed  and  laid  out 
a  complete  town,  with  a  church  and  school-house.  His  wife  christened  it 
"  Utopia,"  in  hopes  that  it  might  prove  such  to  his  people.  As  each  little 
band  of  Indians  arrived,  he  welcomed  them  at  his  own  home,  and  helped 
them  to  begin  their  new  lives. 

Everything  was  strange  to  the  Indians.  They  all  longed  for  their  old 
homes.  The  winter  of  that  year  was  the  most  severe  ever  known  in  the 
Indian  Territory.  Here  was  Craig's  opportunity.  All  along,  on  the  trip 
across  the  plains,  he  had  insidiously  instilled  into  their  savage  minds  the 
idea  that  the  Brookes  had  arranged  the  matter  with  the  "  Great  Father," 
and  had  sold  their  hunting-grounds.  Now,  in  their  sore  physical  distress, 
he  saw  a  chance  to  incite  the  hungry  and  half-starved  Indians  to  revenge 
themselves  for  the  apparent  treachery. 

For  some  time  there  had  been  an  estrangement  between  Craig  and  John 
Brooke.  But  Brooke  was  so  busy  with  his  several  schemes  for  improve- 
ment, laying  out  and  building  his  town  and  establishing  a  church,  that  he 
paid  little  attention  to  the  machinations  of  his  Scotch  brother-in-law,  who 
now  saw  almost  within  his  grasp  the  supreme  control  of  the  Cherokee 
Nation. 

After  considerable  parleying,  Craig  secured  a  meeting  of  the  Great 
Council.  He  finally  prevailed  upon  them  to  send  the  old  Major  off  to 
Washington  again,  to  ask  for  a  distribution  of  rations  earlier  in  the  season, 
on  account  of  the  trying  winter.  Then  Craig  arranged  to  have  about 
thirty  of  the  boldest  and  most  dissatisfied  of  the  Indians  meet  at  his  home  in 
a  sheltered  valley,  some  five  miles  from  Utopia,  down  the  Arkansas  River. 
He  had  determined  that  John  Brooke  and  his  father,  the  old  Major,  must 
die.  Preparatory  to  the  meeting,  he  had  consulted  with  three  or  four  of 
the  most  daring,  and  they  had  advised  him  to  await  the  old  man's  return 
from  Washington.  Craig  did  not  agree  with  them,  and  fearing  that  upon 
deliberation  some  might  repent,  he  insisted  upon  immediate  action. 

He  dared  not  let  either  of  the  Brookes  address  the  men,  for  he  knew  how 
easily  they  were  swayed  by  oratory.  So  he  arranged  that  one  party  should 


i2  PROLOGUE. 

lie  in  wait  for  the  Major  in  a  secluded  spot  on  his  road  to  Van  Buren,  a 
little  river  town  in  Arkansas,  from  which  he  could  obtain  transportation 
to  Washington,  and  that  another  body  should  surround  the  house  of  John 
Brooke,  and  kill  him  before  he  even  fancied  any  danger. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  Major  Brooke  left  for  Washington,  Craig 
had  instructed  a  few  trusted  lieutenants  to  gather  together  those  of  the 
Indians  on  whom  they  could  rely. 

There  had  been  fitful  gusts  of  rain  early  in  the  evening,  and  by  midnight 
the  moon,  which  had  shone  forth  intermittently  during  the  early  part  of 
the  evening,  having  gone  down,  darkness  had  added  gloom  to  the  stormy 
night.  Then,  here  and  there,  about  and  around  John  Brooke's  house, 
the  lithe  forms  of  a  score  or  so  of  restless,  uneasy  Indians  began  to  gather. 
Every  now  and  then  one  of  them  would  go  back  to  a  man  standing  alone 
behind  a  small  clump  of  cottonwood  trees,  to  report.  Finally,  they  col- 
lected in  front  of  the  house.  As  if  by  magic  one  of  them  produced  a  key 
and  opened  the  front  door. 

They  all  stealthily  entered  the  sitting-room,  where  two  hours  before  had 
sat  John  Brooke  and  his  wife.  They  started  to  open  the  bedroom  door. 
John  Brooke  sprang  from  his  bed,  and  seeing  the  men,  braced  himself 
against  the  wall.  He  held  back  the  door  with  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  he  pushed  aside  the  leader. 

1 '  What  are  you  doing  here,  men  ?  "  he  demanded.  Then,  realizing  that 
they  must  be  bent  on  mischief,  he  said,  "  My  father  and  I  have  been  your 
friends  ;  We — " 

"Don't  let  him  talk  to  us,"  Craig  cried. 

"Don't  let  him  talk  to  us,"  echoed  one  of  the  men  in  the  back  ranks, 
and  at  that  moment  John  Brooke  received  a  knife  in  his  breast.  As 
Brooke  staggered  back,  others  pushed  forward  to  assist  their  leader  in  the 
murder.  Before  the  last  man  had  finished  his  dastardly  work  a  fearful 
shriek  gave  evidence  that  Brooke's  poor  wife  had  awakened  and  discovered 
what  had  taken  place.  Immediately  they  all  rushed  out  into  the  dark 
night,  leaving  the  poor  woman  with  her  dying  husband. 

"Nan,  bring  me  my  rifle,  quick  !"  commanded  the  dying  man.  "  No, 
no  light  !  "  then,  as  if  in  great  pain,  "  Quick  !  the  devils  will  get  away  !  " 

"No,  John,  no  !  What  is  the  matter  ;  what  have  they  done?"  cried 
the  wife. 

Striking  a  light,  she  saw  what  had  happened.  She  quickly  recovered 
her  presence  of  mind,  and  saw  that  her  husband  had  swooned.  She  nerved 
herself  and  hastened  to  raise  him  on  the  bed,  and  tie  up  his  anr.  to  prevent 
the  flow  of  blood  from  an  artery  which  had  been  severed.  Then  she 


PROLOGUE.  13 

administered  a  stimulant,  and  called  Wawona,  their  little  daughter,  and 
the  servant. 

When  little  Wawona  came  into  the  room,  her  mother  motioned  her  to 
silence,  while  she  tried  to  rouse  her  husband.  Soon  he  showed  signs  of 
life,  and  with  a  convulsive  start  regained  consciousness. 

"  Swear  that  you  will  revenge  my  death  !  "  he  said,  half  delirious.  "  I 
know  it  all — John  Craig  had  them  murder  me,  and  my  poor  father  is  prob- 
ably now  lying  dead  on  the  public  road.  Wawona,  swear  that  you  will  be 
revenged  1  revenged  1 "  gasped  the  father,  his  Indian  nature  seeming  to  take 
full  control  of  his  thoughts. 

"  Oh,  John,  don't  think  of  that  1  Don't  die  with* that  idea  in  your 
mind.  Have  you  no  thought  for  little  Wawona  and  me  ?  Speak  !  for 
God's  sake,  speak  I  Don't  die  I  Don't  leave  us  !  " 

The  expression  on  his  face  changed.  His  Indian  spirit  gave  way  to  his 
love.  He  beckoned  his  child  to  the  bedside,  put  his  arm  around  her,  and 
grasping  the  hand  of  his  wife  firmly,  said  in  disjoined  gasps  : 

"  Yes,  you  're  right.  My  Christianity  ought  to  make  me  think  of  you 
in  these  last  moments.  I  see  it  all.  By  our  death  you  two  alone,  besides 
my  old  uncle,  stand  in  the  way  of  John  Craig  and  his  ambitions  in  this 
Nation.  Now  swear  tome,  both  of  you  swear,  that  you  will  have  nothing 
to  do  with  this  man  or  his,  in  any  way.  Swear  to  me  !  " 

With  a  mighty  effort  he  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  notwithstanding 
his  wife's  attempt  to  restrain  him. 

"Now  both  of  you  place  your  left  hands  on  your  hearts,  and  hold  your 
right  hands  up  to  God,  and  swear  to  me  that  you  will  never  have  any  con- 
nection in  any  way  whatsoever  with  John  Craig,  or  his." 

"  I  swear  !"  came  from  both. 

"  Good-by  !  Take  Wawona  to  your  brother.  Farewell,  my  wife,  fare — " 
before  he  could  finish,  his  breath  stopped  ;  he  could  only  press  Wawona 
to  his  breast  and  sink  back. 

The  position  relieved  him.     He  breathed  again. 

Suddenly  he  sat  up,  with  his  eyes  almost  bursting  from  their  sockets. 
He  looked  at  the  child  an  instant,  and  then  motioning  her  to  come  to  him, 
he  placed  her  little  left  hand  on  his  heart,  and  holding  her  right  hand  up, 
gasped  "  Swear  it !  Swear  it  !  " 

"  I  swear  never  to  have  anything  to  do  with  John  Craig  or  his,  so  long 
as  I  live,"  came  in  clear,  childish  accents.  As  the  little  voice  ceased,  John 
Brooke  gave  a  long,  deep  gasp,  and  fell  back — dead. 

The  next  day  a  runner  was  sent  to  inform  his  father  of  what  had  hap- 
pened. He  returned  with  the  news  that  Major  Brooke  himself  was  killed, 
as  his  son  had  predicted.  The  poor  wife  was  almost  crazed  with  grief. 


i4  PROLOGUE. 

She  sat  by  the  side  of  her  dead  husband,  the  very  embodiment  of  woe  and 
desolate  despair.  All  her  sacrifices  of  youth  and  beauty,  the  comforts  of 
home  and  civilization,  now  counted  for  nothing. 

Poor  little  Wawona  hovered  about,  hardly  knowing  where  to  turn  for 
sympathy.  The  dark  faces  of  those  who  had  been  the  dead  man's  friends 
tried  to  look  kindly  on  her  and  comfort  her,  but  all  hope  seemed  driven 
away  by  the  recurrence  of  her  father's  face,  as  he  commanded  her  to  swear 
her  solemn  oath. 

There  was  general  lamentation  over  his  unhappy  death,  universal  sorrow 
expressed,  by  some,  no  doubt,  who  had  been  privy  to  the  assassination, 
and  who,  in  private,  gloated  over  the  event. 

The  widow,  remembering  her  husband's  warning,  fearing  that  her  child 
would  be  unsafe  in  the  country  of  her  father's  murderers,  and  unwilling  to 
remain  where  everything  reminded  her  of  her  great  bereavement,  returned 
to  the  home  of  her  brother,  Amos  Northrop,  a  banker  in  Boston.  There, 
some  three  years  after  the  tragedy,  she  died,  leaving  Wawona  and  the  little 
fortune  she  had  saved  from  her  husband's  possessions  to  the  guardianship  of 
her  brother.  Her  last  words  to  Wawona,  then  a  bright,  nervous,  impres- 
sionable girl  of  ten,  were  : 

"Always  remember  your  father,  dear.  Love  him,  honor  him,  revere 
him.  He  was  a  chief  in  more  than  name — he  was  a  noble,  true  man. " 


J   SWEAR. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Scene :  Home  of  Amos  Northrop,  Boston. 

"  DON'T  ;  please  don't ;  you  must  not  do  that  —  you 
have  no  right  to  kiss  me,"  said  a  bright-faced  young  girl 
of  twenty  or  twenty-one,  as  she  withdrew  herself  from 
an  embrace  evidently  just  attempted  by  a  handsome 
and  stylishly  dressed  young  man  of  decidedly  English  cut. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Why  this  change  ?  Has  my 
bright  little  friend,  whose  broad-mindedness  gave  us  such 
a  clever  little  scene  the  other  evening,  suddenly  turned 
to  an  ascetic  stoic  ? " 

"That 's  exactly  the  kind  of  a  reply  I  expected,"  she 
answered.  "  The  next  thing  to  say  is, '  I  thought  you  were 
clever  enough  to  understand  that  one  need  not  be  wholly 
lost,  even  though  one  be  not  a  prude.' ' 

"  Then  why  did  you  kiss  me  in  the  conservatory  over 
at  Mrs.  Walling's  the  other  night  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  half 
injured  air. 

She  turned  as  if  to  answer  him,  and  then  hesitated  and 
began  twirling  the  lace  on  her  gown. 

Up  to  the  time  of  the  advent  of  Paul  Morrison  into 
her  life,  Fanny  Northrop  had  considered  herself  ab- 
solutely invincible  in  flirtations.  The  results  of  her 
last  year's  experience  in  society  at  home  and  at  the  sea- 
shore gave  her  good  reason  for  so  thinking.  Her  success 
was  the  occasion  of  considerable  astonishment  among 
the  dowagers  and  chaperones  of  Boston's  best  society, 


1 6  /  SWEAR. 

who  considered  the  easy,  familiar  air  with  which  she  met 
her  gentlemen  friends  as  proof  positive  that  a  four  years' 
stay  in  California,  from  which  she  had  but  recently  re- 
turned, had  so  worn  off  the  esthetic  finish  of  her  Boston 
training  as  to  wholly  ruin  her  chances  of  interesting  Bos- 
ton society  men. 

But  since  Paul  Morrison's  appearance  on  the  social 
horizon,  she  had  been  taught  to  know  that  there  were 
men  worthy  of  her  steel. 

Paul  Morrison  was  an  Englishman,  about  twenty-six 
years  old,  a  graduate  of  Oxford,  and  had  been  introduced 
to  the  Somerset  Club  by  Eyrie  Vansandt,  so  he  must 
have  brought  good  letters  from  England.  He  spent  a 
great  deal  of  money,  and  (mirabile  dictuf)  paid  his  bills, 
consequently  was  accepted  as  wealthy. 

Fanny  Northrop  had  long  since  had  practical  demon- 
stration of  the  fact  that  he  danced  well,  played  billiards 
and  lawn  tennis  well,  and  had  she  the  time  and  inclination 
to  recall  the  happenings  of  the  past  summer  at  Bar  Har- 
bor, and  more  particularly  a  certain  tender  scene  in  a  se- 
cluded corner  of  Mrs.  Walling' s  conservatory,  to  which 
reference  had  been  made,  she  would  have  admitted  ttfet  he 
"  spooned  "  well.  Altogether,  he  was  the  brightest  and 
cleverest  man  she  had  met  since  her  return  from  Califor- 
nia—  had  just  enough  English  about  him  to  make  him 
interesting,  and  not  so  much  as  to  make  him  a  boor  ;  was 
dissipated  enough  to  show  that  he  had  life  in  him,  and  not 
enough  to  be  a  roue ;  paid  his  attentions  with  enough 
nonchalance  to  show  that  other  girls  had  liked  him  be- 
fore, and  yet  with  enough  ardency  for  her  to  think  him 
sincere. 

In  fact,  had  she  not  known  that  Morrison  had  been 
paying  marked  attentions  to  her  cousin  Wawona  Brooke, 
who  was  her  father's  ward,  she  would  probably  have  ad- 
mitted to  herself  that  she  was  in  love  with  him.  Truth 


I  SWEAR.  17 

to  tell,  she  had  planned  this  interview  with  the  idea  of 
determining  whether  or  not  he  was  engaged  to  marry  her 
cousin: 

She  had  suspicions  that,  during  the  two  weeks  which 
had  elapsed  since  the  Walling  party,  he  had  proposed 
to  her  cousin  ;  and  she  also  had  suspicions  that  he  had 
suspicions  that  she  was  more  in  love  with  him  than  she 
cared  to  acknowledge  ;  and  so  she  took  this  her  first  op- 
portunity, to  cross-examine  him,  with  the  idea  that  in 
case  her  suspicions  proved  true  with  reference  to  his 
engagement  to  her  cousin,  she  could  attempt  to  dis- 
solve these  latter  suspicions  in  his  mind. 

It  was  a  Sunday  evening  in  May.  She  was  dressed  in 
a  soft  white  afternoon  gown,  made  for  the  summer  at 
the  seashore,  donned  that  afternoon  from  a  passing 
fancy.  Ordinarily,  she  would  have  changed  it  for  a  dress 
more  suitable  for  the  evening  ;  but  as  this  was  the  first 
chance  she  had  had  of  being  wholly  alone  with  Morrison 
since  that  memorable  night,  she  determined  to  make 
the  most  of  her  time  before  she  was  interrupted.  Be- 
sides, she  wanted  to  try  the  effect  of  that  dress  on  him. 
In  it,*as  she  well  knew,  she  was  enough  to  bring  out  the 
artistic  appreciation  of  even  the  most  hardened  flirt. 

So  she  had  met  him  at  the  door  herself,  and  ushered 
him  into  a  cozy  little  apartment  off  the  parlor,  half  smok- 
ing-room, half  library,  affectionately  called  "  the  den  "  by 
those  intimate  friends  of  the  Northrop  family  who  had 
the  good  fortune  to  have  the  entr6e  within  its  sacred 
portals.  It  was  nearly  ^wilight,  and  before  they  were  fairly 
in  the  room  a  servant  had  come  into  the  parlor  to  light 
the  gas.  On  hearing  her,  Fanny  had  abruptly  inter- 
rupted the  formal  nothings  with  which  he  was  greeting 
her,  by  suddenly  turning  to  a  large  Vienna  music-box 
which  stood  in  the  corner,  and  started  it  playing,  and 
then  when  her  servant  pulled  aside  the  portiere  which 


X8  /  SWEAR. 

connected  "  the  den  "  with  the  parlor,  said  in  an  off-hand 
way: 

"  No,  you  need  not  light  the  gas  in  here.  Mr.  Morri- 
son and  I  will  only  wait  to  hear  this  cylinder  through, 
and  then  return  to  the  parlor." 

It  was  no  wonder,  then,  that  he  had  mentally  assured 
himself  of  a  very  interesting  and  charming  repetition, 
with  complete  and  perfect  stage  setting,  of  the  scene  in 
the  conservatory,  which  had  already  taken  a  place 
amongst  his  many  little  remembrances  of  "confidences 
in  external  expressions  of  affection,"  as  a  charming  and 
popular  society  chaperone  friend  euphemistically  termed 
such  scenes. 

So  when  he  had  carelessly  sauntered  over  to  the  large 
easy-chair  against  the  arm  of  which  she  half  reclined, 
and  in  contrast  with  the  red  covering  of  which  she  made 
a  charming  and  altogether  enticing  picture  in  the  dim 
light  which  was  reflected  through  a  slight  opening  in  the 
portieres,  and  attempted  an  embrace  with  the  ill  success 
just  related,  he  was  nonplused,  assumed  an  injured  air, 
put  both  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets,  leaned  up  against 
the  mantel,  and  quietly  surveyed  the  beautiful  girl  in  a 
quizzing  sort  of  way,  waiting  for  an  answer  to  his  last 
question. 

She  did  not  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry  to  give  it. 

She  twirled  and  twisted  the  lace  on  her  gown  over  and 
over  again,  evidently  in  a  deep  study. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  either.  His  eyes  seemed 
riveted  on  her. 

Suddenly  the  music-box  stopped.  The  silence  became 
oppressive. 

She  took  up  a  new  cylinder  of  light  waltz  tunes  and 
started  the  box  playing  again  ;  then  suddenly  turned  tc 
him  and  said ; 


I  SWEAR.  19 

"You don't  respect  me  now  nearly  as  much  as  you  did 
before  you  kissed  me,  do  you  ? " 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry  you  asked  that,  Miss  Northrop," 
he  said  in  an  injured  tone. 

"  Why  ? "  she  said  quickly,  surprised  at  his  peculiar 
answer. 

"Because  it  is  so  like  every  other  girl  I  ever  kissed," 
he  replied  with  exaggerated  nonchalance. 

"They  all  say  that  sooner  or  later,  and  I  thought  you 
were  original  enough  and  broad-minded  enough  not  to 
run  into  that  strain,"  hj  added,  with  a  tone  of  consider- 
able earnestness.  "Really,  if  you  only  knew  what 
charms  your  originality  in  taking  scenes,  and  the  absence 
of  use  of  those  much-worn  formulas  of  girls  who  have 
let  you  kiss  them  and  want  to  impress  on  you  that  they 
have  done  you  a.  great  favor,  have  for  me,  you  would 
immediately  ask  me  to  forget  you  had  asked  it." 

She  did  not  answer,  so  he  continued  : 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  can  almost  go  through  the 
whole  list  of  formulas,  from  'You  don't  respect  me' 
down  to  '  What  would  you  do  if  you  found  your  sister  in 
such  a  situation  ? '  Every  man  will  tell  you  the  same 
thing.  Please  now  drop  the  stoic,  and  come  back  to  com- 
mon-sense broad-mindedness." 

"  Well,  that  is  all  very  clever  and  bright,  and  you  have 
turned  the  subject  of  conversation  very  neatly,  but  — 

She  hesitated,  and  immediately  a  peculiar  expression 
came  over  her  face  as  she  again  took  to  twirling  her  lace. 
Finally  she  continued  : 

"  But  now  redeem  your  boast  of  the  other  night — that 
you  never  told  a  young  lady  friend  a  lie  in  your  life,  and 
answer  my  question,  even  though  it  be  a  'chestnut,'  as 
the  boys  say  in  California." 

Before  he  could  answer,  however,  she  quickly  turned 
and  looked  at  him,  as  she  said  : 


20  /  SWEAR. 

"That  last  speech  was  the  most  egotistical  I  ever 
heard.  '  Every  girl  I  ever  kissed,'  to  be  sure  !  I  sup- 
pose they  can  be  counted  by  the  thousands.  I  do  hate 
'men  flirts,'  and  here  you  are  boasting  of  your  experience 
in  that  line,  and  to  my  face,  too." 

"  I  have  understood  women  always  dislike  their  male 
prototypes,"  he  answered,  trying  to  appear  testy  as  an 
excuse  to  divert  her  mind  from  her  question,  for  as  sur- 
mised, he  bore  a  very  interesting  position  toward  her 
cousin  ;  in  fact,  because  of  his  relations  to  Miss  Brooke  he 
found  considerable  trouble  in  giving  a  safe  answer. 

She,  however,  was  too  clever  and  too  much  in  earnest 
to  be  so  easily  distracted. 

"  No,  no  !  come  back  and  answer  my  question.  Do 
you  respect  me  as  much  as  you  did  before  you  kissed 
me  ?  "  she  said  deliberately  and  determinedly. 

He  stood  and  thought  —  pushed  the  money  in  his  pocket 
over  and  over  again,  each  piece  making  a  direct  snap  as 
it  parted  from  the  others.  It  was  now  evident  to  her 
that  he  did  not  desire  to  answer  the  question. 

Finally  he  went  slowly  over  and  took  her  cheeks  in 
his  hands,  and  looked  down  into  her  eyes  for  a  full  min- 
ute. She  returned  his  gaze  as  if  trying  to  divine  his 
object.  Neither  spoke.  At  last  he  bent  his  head  to  kiss 
her. 

Just  before  his  mustache  touched  her  lips,  she  drew  her 
head  back  and  said  : 
"  No,  I  want  your  answer." 

He  resumed  his  air  of  study  and  his  place  at  the  man- 
tel, and  his  hands  resumed  their  place  in  his  trousers 
pockets. 

After  a  while  he  said,  as  if  having  settled  a  long  debate : 

"Yes,  I  do.    I  always  respect  consistency.     You  know 

that  you  ha  ve  a  strong  will,  and  that  your  will  controls 

your  passions.     You  know  also  that  I  am  a  gentleman  — 


I  SWEAR.  ax 

a  man  of  breeding,  and  that  your  command  will  prevent 
me  from  continuing  in  a  course  antagonistic  to  your  ex- 
pressed desire.  If  you  like  a  beautiful  horse,  a  pretty  dog, 
or  a  lovely  cat,  you  like  to  caress  it.  So  with  me.  If  I 
see  a  pretty  girl,  bright,  original  and  clever,  I  like  to 
caress  her.  And,  if  she  likes  the  caress  —  free  from  any 
passion  —  on  the  same  principle  as  the  horse,  the  dog,  or 
the  cat,  why  I  hold  her  in  respect  even  though  she  per- 
mit the  caress." 

"But  our  chaperones  say  it  is  impossible;  passion  is 
the  motive  power  in  the  affection  of  all  humans,"  she  re- 
plied, as  she  looked  steadfastly  at  her  hands. 

"  Not  in  all.  It  depends  on  the  will  power  of  the  in- 
dividual," he  said  slowly,  as  if  hesitating  whether  to  con- 
tinue ;  and  then  finally  added  with  an  air  which  indicated 
that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  upon  the  course  to  pursue  : 
"  There  are  two  kinds  of  kisses  :  one,  the  end  —  the  fin- 
ishing, complete  acme  of  one  course  of  action ;  the  other, 
the  initiative  —  the  introduction  to  another  course,  the 
heightened  fervor  of  whose  acme  causes  the  kiss  to  fade 
into  insignificance." 

At  this  she  looked  up  at  him  for  the  first  time  ;  only  a 
quick,  furtive  glance  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  which 
she  immediately  lowered. 

"  I  speak  plainly,  because  I  want  honestly  to  explain  my 
position,"  he  continued.  "  Educated  in  the  modern 
school  as  you  are,  with  ready  access  to  Ouida,  Zola, 
Balzac,  Tolstoi,  and  Amelie  Rives,  you  are  not  alto- 
gether ignorant  of  the  existence  of  a  master  passion  in 
humanity.  Now,  there  is  not  the  least  infinitesimal  pos- 
sibility of  a  doubt  that  our  kiss  comes  in  the  former 
class,  and  there  is  no  reason  save  an  unwritten  custom 
why  I  should  not  kiss  you.  If  you  were  a  married  woman, 
with  absolutely  definite,  man-made,  law-manufactured 
reasons  why  you  should  not  permit  me  tokiss  you,  and  you 


22  I  SWEAR. 

then  did,  there  would  in  that  act  itself  be  sufficient  indi- 
cation that  your  passion  had  control  over  your  will  to 
prove  that  our  kiss  should  be  placed  among  the  latter 
class.  And  in  that  event  I  frankly  admit  'the  probabili- 
ties are,  that  my  desire  to  have  my  kiss  fade  into  insig- 
nificance, according  to  the  rules  just  laid  down,  would 
cause  me  to  become  so  certain  of  the  completion  of  the 
remaining  acts  of  the  series  that  I  would  forget  the  kiss 
itself  was  innocent,  and  lose  respect." 

She  looked  up  at  him  through  the  corners  of  her  eyes 
several  times  during  the  course  of  his  diatribe,  but  when 
he  had  finished,  continued  to  sit  and  look  at  her  hands 
for  a  few  minutes.  Finally  she  turned  and  looked  in- 
tently at  him  with  a  sharp  expression  to  her  eyes. 

He  did  not  try  to  evade  the  gaze  ;  in  fact  returned  it, 
in  an  earnest,  inquiring  way  for  a  time,  and  then  smiled. 

She  tried  to  appear  obdurate,  but  at  last  smiled  also. 

He  then  sauntered  over  to  her,  took  her  hand,  drew 
her  over  to  him  very  close,  and  said  : 

"  If  love  is  a  crime,  —  a  sinful  passion, 

Then  why  did  our  God,  so  good  and  so  wise, 
Make  man's  heart  after  such  a  peculiar  fashion 
That  naught  but  love  e'er  satisfies  ?  " 

As  he  finished  the  quotation,  he  drew  her  over  still 
closer  and  kissed  her. 

This  brought  her  to  her  feet ;  she  withdrew  herself 
from  his  embrace,  and  said  in  a  serious  voice  : 

"  But,  just  the  same,  when  you  want  to  marry  a  girl 
you  are  very  careful  to  pick  out  one  who  has  not  been 
broad-minded,  as  you  call  it." 

"  Why,  Fanny,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  said.  "I  hope 
you  do  not  consider  this  a  personal  discussion." 

"  No,  no,  do  not  evade  me  that  way,"  she  answered, 
still  more  seriously.  "  Let  us  talk  sense  :  when  we  girls 


I  SWEAR.  23 

do,  you,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  Somerset  Club  men,  suc- 
cessful flirts  that  you  are,  jest  and  evade  everything 
which  tends  to  disappoint  you  in  your  desires.  It  is  all 
in  unison  with  your  ideas,  as  you  have  just  given  them. 

"  You  lay  out  a  great  plain  of  society,  and  over  on  the 
edge  of  that  plain  you  put  a  chasm  which  divides  us  poor 
girls  from  a  something,  the  nature  of  which  we  know  of 
only  in  a  story-book  sort  of  a  way. 

"  On  the  brink  of  that  chasm  is  a  barbed-wire  fence. 
We  poor  girls  have  an  idea  there  is  something  very  in- 
teresting over  the  brink  of  the  chasm.  Our  worthy  mam- 
mas and  all  our  good  old  maid  friends  and  chaperones 
instruct  us  to  keep  on  the  straight  and  narrow  paths, 
which  lead,  by  more  or  less  divergent  ways,  to  a  gate  in 
the  fence  carefully  guarded  by  a  marriage  license  clerk 
and  a  minister  ;  while  we  giddy  little  things  are  tempted, 
tout  de  meme,  to  gambol  off  to  get  a  look  over  the  chasm 
before  we  get  to  the  gate.  And  we  always  can  find  some 
of  you  interesting  and  philosophizing  flirts  of  club  men 
to  assist  us  in  getting  as  close  to  the  barbs  as  possible.  If 
we  have  strength  of  character  enough  to  get  back  into 
the  paths  without  getting  scratched,  or  any  of  our  chap- 
erones detecting  our  wandering,  all  well  and  good  ;  and 
sooner  or  later  we  find  some  meek  and  sweet  young 
man,  who  either  hasn't  knowledge  of  life  enough  to 
know  that  there  is  a  barbed-wire  fence  out  there,  or 
else  has  no  idea  that  we  know  it,  and  on  we  go  through 
the  gate  with  him.  But  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that 
the  chances  are  ten  to  one  that  you,  who  assist  us  over 
toward  the  barbs,  when  you  get  back  to  the  paths, 
choose  another  girl  who  either  is  so  innocent  that  she 
does  not  know  of  the  barbs,  or  else  is  clever  enough  to 
hide  the  fact  that  she  is  not  thus  innocent,  and  quietly 
meander  through  the  gate  with  her.  Now  be  honest,  — 
don't  you?" 


24  /  SWEAR. 

He  winced  several  times  during  the  course  of  her 
speech,  for  he  saw  that  she  had  him  cornered. 

He  tried  to  turn  it  off. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  are  going  to  run  along  and  question 
a  man  concerning  things  he  has  never  thought  about,  I 
suppose  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  commence  with  Whew- 
ell's  Moral  Philosophy,  and  get  coached  on  the  subject 
well  enough  to  answer  your  question." 

She  saw  from  this  that  he  was  trying  to  evade  her  at- 
tempts at  finding  out  whether  he  was  engaged  to  Wa- 
wona,  and  so  did  not  answer  for  a  few  minutes,  but  re- 
turned to  the  pastime  of  twirling  the  lace  on  her  dress. 

The  music-box  had  stopped,  but  neither  of  them  seemed 
to  notice  it.  Each  was  too  engrossed  in  the  pastime  of 
trying  to  fathom  the  thoughts  of  the  other. 

She  cannot  bring  herself  to  believe  that  he  is  engaged 
to  her  cousin,  because  he  is  willing  to  carry  on  such  a 
desperate  flirtation  with  her  at  the  same  time.  She  be- 
gins to  realize  that  she  would  like  to  have  him  very  much 
interested  in  herself,  but  was  not  exactly  certain  whether 
she  cared  enough  for  him  to  marry  him. 

However,  in  the  last  few  seconds  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  that  she  did  not  want  him  to  feel  that  he  was  com- 
ing off  best  in  the  little  tilt  of  affection  which  the  flirta- 
tion now  amounted  to.  She  determined,  therefore,  not 
to  pursue  the  advantage  she  had  gained,  but  to  attempt 
to  learn  his  position  in  another  way. 

So  she  turned  to  him,  and  in  a  frank  tone  said  : 

"  Now,  Mr.  Morrison,  I  want  to  ask  a  really  straight- 
forward question." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  assumed  a  waiting  expression. 

"  Am  I  more  interested  in  you  than  you  in  me  ? " 

He  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  have  had  time  to 
study  her  intent,  but  fearful  that  she  might  return  to  the 


/  SWEAR.  25 

other  line  ot  conversation  in  which  she  had  just  cornered 
him,  he  hastened  to  answer  : 

"  Most  certainly  no,  else  why  should  I  have  acted  as  I 
have  ?" 

Then,  as  an  excuse  to  give  him  time  to  collect  his 
thoughts,  he  turned  and  wound  up  the  music-box.  It 
began  playing  a  popular  waltz.  After  a  time  an  expres- 
sion came  over  his  face  which  showed  that  he  had  caught 
an  idea. 

He  turned  to  her  and  said  : 

"  What  a  lovely  waltz.  Do  you  know,  I  think  '  My 
Queen'  is  the  best  marked  time  I  ever  danced  to  ?  It  is 
the  same  music  we  had  over  at  Walling's  the  other 
night.  Can't  we  have  a  trifle  of  a  waltz  now  ? " 

"But  it  is  Sunday  night,"  she  said,  doubting  whether 
his  desire  to  waltz  was  his  only  object. 

"Oh,  come  along,  anyhow." 

He  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  assumed  a  waltzing  po- 
sition, which  she  permitted  in  a  passive  way. 

Then  having  her  thus,  he  said  : 

"  But  you  really  do  not  want  to  break  the  Sabbath  ?  " 

He  did  not  release  her,  however. 

She  now  saw  that  the  position  really  amounted  to  an 
embrace. 

Her  first  impulse  was  not  to  permit  it ;  then  a  way- 
ward feeling  took  possession  of  her,  and,  for  a  moment 
forgetful  of  her  main  object,  she  realized  that  she  en- 
joyed the  position. 

"  I  suppose  we  ought  not  to  dance,  as  papa  objects  so,'' 
she  answered,  as  she  involuntarily  nestled  closer  in  her 
already  close  quarters. 

"  Then,  as  I  cannot  kiss  you,  and  cannot  dance  with 
you,"  he  said,  as  he  dropped  his  left  arm  from  its  danc- 
ing position  to  j  oin  his  right,  which  was  already  round  her 
waist,  "I  presume  we  had  better  return  to  the  parlor." 


26  I  SWEAR. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  loosen  his  hold  nor  attempt 
to  move. 

"  But  suppose  I  don't  want  to  ?  "  she  asked,  suddenly 
looking  up  at  him,  with  her  face  dangerously  near  his. 

"Well,  then,  we  won't !  "  he  answered,  as  he  impet- 
uously drew  her  up  to  him  and  kissed  her  once,  twice,  a 
dozen  times. 

Suddenly  he  held  her  off  at  arms'  length  an  instant, 
and  they  both  smiled. 

Then  he  said  :   "Well,  you  are  a  conundrum." 

" I  know  it,"  she  said  ;  "and  you  are  another." 

He  turned  to  the  mantel,  leaned  back  against  it,  and 
drew  her,  a  not  unwilling  prisoner,  once  more  into  his 
arms,  in  a  very  warm  embrace. 

She  was  fully  in  unison. 

"Well,"  she  said,  after  a  few  minutes'  revelry,  "this 
is  a  nice  set  of  spoons.  I  think  I  had  better  be  looking 
for  the  barbed-wire  fence.  Here,  my  hair  is  all  rumpled, 
my  bangs  out,  my  face  flushed,  and  pulse  throbbing. 
You  had  better  take  those  kisses  back,  and  I  will  run  up 
stairs  and  change  my  dress." 

Hardly  had  she  said  this,  when  "  Um-m-m  "  sounded 
from  the  parlor  in  a  man's  deep  voice. 

She  sprang  from  him  with  a  look  of  horror. 

"Great  heavens  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  terrified  whis- 
per, "  it 's  my  father  !  " 

He  realized  that  it  was  time  for  action. 

"  Pretend  we  were  dancing.  Come  in  with  me ;  I  will 
do  the  talking,"  he  interjectedly  whispered,  as  he  pulled 
her  hand  through  his  arm,  and  opening  the  portiere  made 
his  entrance  into  the  back  parlor. 

A  more  shame-faced,  childishly  awkward  picture  than 
that  young  man  and  young  woman  made  could  not  be 
imagined. 

Amos  Northrop  stood  out  in  the  center  of  the  room, 


/  SWEAR.  27 

his  face  the  picture  of  suppressed  rage  and  disgust.  The 
silence  could  almost  be  felt. 

Finally  Morrison  summoned  up  courage  enough  to  say, 
as  he  drew  his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  wiped 
his  forehead  in  a  conspicuous  manner : 

"  I  suppose  we  can  expect  a  well-deserved  lecture  for 
dancing  on  Sunday  night ;  but  really,  if  you  only  knew 
what  a  charming  waltzer  Miss  Northrop  is,  and  could 
appreciate  the  truly  wonderful  time  kept  by  your  music- 
box,  I  feel  that  you  could  almost  forgive  me  for  having 
induced  your  daughter  to  dance  with  me,  even  on  Sun- 
day night." 

The  banker  continued  to  look  at  him  coldly,  without 
saying  a  word. 

Fanny  withdrew  her  arm  from  his  and  moved  over 
to  the  piano,  and  stood  there  nervously  fingering  her 
bangles. 

Morrison  returned  Mr.  Northrop's  gaze  as  best  he 
could,  trying  nobly  to  keep  up  appearances. 

Finally  the  father  broke  the  silence  by  saying  in  a 
frigidly  cold,  sarcastic  voice  : 

"  I  do  not  think  I  should,  sir.  But  if  I  attempted  to 
dance,  I  should  expect  the  young  lady  to  have  sufficient 
respect  for  her  good  name,  if  not  for  herself,  to  have 
light  enough  so  that  it  might  be  evident  I  could  dance 
without  endangering  the  furniture." 

Then,  turning  to  Fanny,  he  added  in  the  same  sarcastic 
tone  : 

"  The  nursery  is  upstairs.  You  can  have  Parker  put 
you  to  bed.  I  will  return  you  to  school  soon,  so  that  you 
may  learn  what  is  due  from  a  young  lady  of  good  family." 

As  she  started  to  shame-facedly  leave  the  room,  he 
added : 

"  And  you  had  better  choose  a  companion  next  time 


28  /  SWEAR. 

who  is  not  so  egotistical  as  to  think  he  can  mislead  oth- 
ers by  untrue  innuendo." 

Immediately  there  came  a  revolution  of  feeling,  for  he 
detained  her  with  : 

"  No,  wait  a  moment ;  I  presume  you  had  better  wish 
'good  night '  to  your  guest." 

"Mr.  Northrop,  you  misunderstand  the  situation," 
Morrison  tried  to  say.  "  I  called  to  see  you,  and  can 
explain — " 

"  Not  at  present,"  interrupted  the  banker.  "  I  con- 
sider scenes  ill-bred." 

"  Good  night.  I  will  explain  at  another  time,  then," 
answered  Morrison,  as  the  banker  turned  and  walked 
over  to  the  door  of  the  back  parlor. 

Morrison  politely  again  said  "  Good  night,"  as  he  bowed 
himself  out. 

Mr.  Northrop  waited  until  Fanny  had,  without  a  word 
other  than  "  Good  night,"  shaken  hands  with  Morrison 
at  the  front  door. 

When  the  door  closed  the  banker  turned  and  entered 
his  private  study,  within  whose  sacred  portals  the  family 
seldom  intruded  under  ordinary  circumstances,  and  Fan- 
ny knew  that  it  was  best  not  to  do  so  at  present,  even  if 
she  had  not  been  too  glad  to  run  up  to  her  own  room  and 
have  a  good  cry. 

Amos  Northrop  dropped  into  his  office  chair,  a  troub- 
led look  overshadowing  his  face.  He  sat  there  lost  in 
thought  for  a  considerable  time. 

For  a  man  with  his  active  business  life  and  outside 
distractions,  he  was  more  than  ordinarily  conversant  with 
the  little  social  happenings  of  his  household.  Fanny  had 
been  a  source  of  great  worriment  to  him  ever  since 
her  mother's  death,  five  years  before.  He  had  been  con- 
siderably relieved  when  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Florence  Gaylord, 


I  SWEAR.  29 

of  San  Francisco,  had  invited  her  to  make  an  extended 
visit  in  California. 

On  her  return  he  had  hoped  that  Fanny  and  her  cousin 
Wawona  might  become  intimate  friends.  But  while  they 
were  on  the  very  best  of  terms,  there  never  seemed  to  be 
that  spontaneity  of  fellowship  which  bespeaks  complete 
unanimity  of  feeling.  Each  had  her  circle  of  callers  and 
admirers,  and,  until  the  arrival  of  Paul  Morrison,  there 
had  never  appeared  to  be  anything  like  rivalry  between 
them.  Miss  Brooke's  friends  were  all  inclined  to  litera- 
ture and  the  arts,  and  Fanny's  to  inclinations  which 
brought  out  the  lighter  capabilities  of  the  mind. 

Morrison's  attentions  to  Wawona  had  assumed  such  a 
shape  that  he  had  quietly  made  inquiries  concerning  him, 
and  found  that,  so  far  as  family  connections  and  finances 
were  concerned,  he  was  a  very  desirable  parti.  But 
he  also  found  that  he  and  Fanny  were  on  better  terms 
than  seemed  consistent  with  his  intentions  toward  Miss 
Brooke. 

Had  he  not  been  Wawona's  guardian,  and  known  that 
outside  of  her  mother's  share  of  his  father's  estate,  some 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  she  had  nothing  except  an 
unknown  possibility  of  something  from  her  father's  pos- 
sessions in  the  Indian  Territory,  which,  on  account  of  the 
peculiar  shape  of  the  title  and  the  Indian  laws,  seemed 
to  him  valueless,  he  would  have  been  convinced  that 
Morrison  was  actuated  by  financial  considerations.  As 
it  was,  the  thought  that  Fanny's  dowry  would  undoubt- 
edly exceed  Wawona's  expectations  very  greatly,  removed 
this  theory,  and  left  him  in  a  great  quandary,  as  he  could 
evolve  no  other. 

It  was  not  his  policy  to  talk  to  his  wards  of  their  pri- 
vate affairs,  so  he  quietly  waited  for  matters  to  form 
themselves.  He  now  felt  that  they  were  about  to  take 
definite  shape. 


3o  /  SWEAR. 

Morrison's  two-facedness  had  occasioned  a  feeling  of 
antipathy  in  the  mind  of  the  straightforward,  honest 
banker.  He  almost  dreaded  a  meeting  with  him,  for  as 
he  had  remarked  to  that  unfortunate  young  man,  he  dis- 
liked "  scenes." 

He  knew  that  Wawona  Brooke  was  completely  oblivi- 
ous to  the  flirtation  which  he  was  carrying  on  with  Fan- 
ny, but  dared  not  say  anything  to  her  ;  both  because  he 
was  not  certain  that  there  was  anything  definite  in  Mor- 
rison's intentions,  and  also  because  he  had  been  afraid 
of  antagonizing  her,  being  fearful  that  some  of  her  In- 
dian traits  would  assert  themselves.  Up  to  this  time, 
her  education  and  refined  surroundings  had  but  brought 
out  the  nobler  qualities  of  her  nature,  and  he  feared  to 
attempt  anything  which  in  anyway  might  cause  her  to 
exert  the  savage  and  lower  traits  of  her  mind  —  which 
he  feared  antagonism  to  any  much  desired  wish  would 
do. 

Finally,  he  threw  it  all  off  his  mind  with  a  deep  sigh 
of  relief,  when  the  thought  came  to  him  that  neither  of 
his  wards  had  been  asked  for,  and  that  he  might  be 
"crossing  a  bridge  twice."  Then  he  turned  to  his  read- 
ing, with  the  determination  not  to  worry  until  affairs 
developed  themselves  more  fully. 


/SWEAR.  31 


CHAPTER  II. 

FANNY  NORTHROP  lay  on  her  bed  with  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  sobbed  until  she  was  physically  weary  of  sob- 
bing. 

At  last  she  sat  up,  rubbed  her  eyes,  lit  the  gas,  and 
then  went  back  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  with  her 
right  knee  embraced  between  her  hands. 

She  finally  looked  up,  and  caught  the  image  of  herself 
in  the  mirror  on  her  bureau. 

The  disheveled  appearance  of  that  image  impressed 
itself  upon  her,  and  she  addressed  it  tearfully  and  hys- 
terically : 

"Well,  you  are  an  old  goose  !  Here  you  are  with  half 
a  dozen  men  ready  to  pay  you  any  kind  of  attention  ;  three 
half  daft  over  you,  and  one  a  perfect  slave  ;  and  yet  you 
go  off  and  make  a  regular  fool  of  yourself  with  a  man  who 
is  trifling  either  with  you  or  your  cousin." 

"  Yes,"  she  said  quite  vehemently,  "  and  get  yourself 
into  such  a  situation  that  your  dear  old  father  will  mis- 
trust everything  you  do  hereafter." 

Then  she  sat  and  watched  a  tear  trickle  down  the 
face  of  the  image,  as  she  tried  to  make  up  her  mind  what 
that  dear  old  father  was  thinking  about  at  that  moment. 

Finally  she  dashed  the  tear  off  her  cheek,  and  turned 
again  to  lecture  the  image : 

"  So  you  are  a  'job  lot,'  are  you  ?  Let  a  man  say,  'that 
is  just  what  every  girl  I  ever  kissed  says  ! '  Well,  it  has 
taught  you  one  thing,  my  girl ;  you  are  getting  about 
old  enough  to  stop  this  giddy  nonsense.  Besides  you 
stand  in  imminent  danger  of  having  the  world  say  you're 
jilted,  my  pretty  miss." 


32  I  SWEAR. 

This  funereal  attempt  at  jollity  was  followed  by  another 
silence  with  its  staring  accompaniment,  as  she  wondered 
whether  or  not  he  was  engaged  to  Wawona  Brooke. 

At  this,  she  fell  to  analyzing  her  own  feelings  toward 
Morrison,  and  had  about  made  up  her  mind  that  she  was 
really  in  love  with  him,  and  had  sufficiently  let  her  desire 
work  on  her  reason  to  cause  her  to  be  in  doubt  whether 
her  father's  appearance  and  termination  of  the  scene  had 
not  prevented  him  from  expressing  a  similar  emotion  for 
her,  when  she  heard  a  tap  at  the  door. 

She  hastily  concluded  that  her  father  had  come  up 
to  have  a  talk  with  her — something  he  had  never  done 
before  in  his  life. 

Her  heart  seemed  to  leap  to  her  mouth  and  her  knees 
to  weaken. 

She  realized  that  she  must  do  something  to  alter  her 
appearance.  She  jumped  to  her  feet,  hastily  tried  to 
powder  up  her  eyes  to  remove  the  tell-tale  traces  of  her 
emotion,  and  then,  as  an  excuse  for  her  delay,  suddenly 
tumbled  down  her  hair,  put  two  or  three  hairpins  in  her 
mouth  for  effect,  and  half  smotheredly  called  from  in 
front  of  her  bureau  : 

"Come  in!" 

The  door  opened,  and  much  to  her  relief  in  came  Wa- 
wona Brooke,  with  her  hat  and  walking-coat  still  on. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter,  Fanny  ?  Everything 
seems  to  be  disarranged,  the  gas  is  burning  full  head  in 
the  parlor,  and  not  a  soul  there.  Uncle  is  locked  up  in 
his  room  and  would  not  admit  me.  Frank  suggested  that 
a  burglar  had  probably  gotten  in  and  kidnaped  the  whole 
family." 

A  thousand  thoughts  flooded  poor  Fanny's  mind. 

Would  it  be  better  to  "pump  "  Wawona  now,  or  wait 
until  she  should  make  up  her  mind  whether  to  carry  out 
Morrison's  lie  about  the  dancing? 


I  SWEAR.  33 

At  first  she  determined  to  try  "  now,"  for  she  thought 
that  if  her  father  said  anything  about  the  scene  in  the 
early  part  of  the  evening,  she  had  better  prepare  Wawona 
for  it.  This  latter  thought  she  dismissed  at  once,  how- 
ever, because  she  knew  that  her  father's  dislike  to 
scenes  would  prevent  him  ever  referring  to  the  matter. 
And,  therefore,  she  hastily  reasoned,  it  would  never 
reach  Wawona — as,  of  course,  Morrison  would  be  the 
last  person  in  the  world  to  refer  to  it. 

Thus  occupied  with  her  thoughts,  she  said  not  a  word 
until  she  had  finished  doing  up  her  hair,  and  then  con- 
spicuously inserting  the  hairpins  she  held  in  her  mouth, 
to  be  certain  that  her  cousin  should  observe  the  excuse 
for  her  silence,  she  answered,  without  turning  around : 

"  Oh,  nothing  ;  I  was  down  in  the  parlor.  Take  a  seat, 
I  '11  be  through  in  a  second." 

Then  once  more  taking  an  inventory  of  her  eyes,  to  be 
sure  there  were  no  traces  of  tears  apparent,  she  turned 
to  her  cousin  and  said : 

"  You  see,  I  got  one  of  my  harum-scarum  ideas  in  my 
head  to  try  to  see  how  Ethel  Servier's  scheme  for  dress- 
ing the  hair  would  go  with  this  frock ;  so  I  ran  up  to  try 
and  forgot  all  about  the  gas.  I  am  always  doing  some- 
thing impulsive  that  way,  ain't  I,  Wawona  ? " 

"  I  am  really  beginning  to  get  afraid  of  myself  in  my 
impulsive  moods,"  she  continued,  with  a  listless  air, 
which  showed  that  her  thoughts  were  back  on  the  hap- 
penings of  an  hour  before,  notwithstanding  her  brave 
attempts  at  nonchalance. 

"But  why  do  you  not  restrain  your  impulses,  my 
dear  ? "  Wawona  answered.  "  Why  do  you  not  exercise 
your  will  power  ? " 

Fanny  saw  that  if  she  was  to  learn  anything  from  her 
cousin,  she  must  take  the  initiative  at  once,  and  turn  the 
subject  of  conversation  into  another  channel. 


34  /  SWEAR. 

"Are  you  never  impulsive,  Wawona?" 

"  No,  Fanny,  I  am  not  given  to  impulses.  And  to  be 
really  frank  with  you,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  en- 
tirely well-bred  to  act  on  first  impulses.  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  one  cannot  be  natural  without  being  ill-bred  ; 
but  what  I  want  to  say  is,  that  we  often  do  things  that 
are  awkward,  and  say  things  that  are  unnecessarily 
brusque,  from  following  first  impulses,"  answered  Miss 
Brooke,  wondering  what  had  come  over  her  cousin,  for 
her  distrait  manner  proclaimed  that  something  was 
troubling  her  mind. 

Fanny  also  realized  that  her  efforts  to  appear  indiffer- 
ent and  undisturbed  were  not  entirely  successful.  So, 
as  she  saw  no  other  resource  to  divert  the  conversation 
from  her  own  affairs,  she  plunged  into  this  discussion  : 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  one  must  throttle  every  de- 
sire and  natural  inclination,  and  study  the  effect  on 
others,  before  they  decide  whether  or  not  to  act  ?  Why, 
we  would  be  a  nice  lot  of  long-faced  Quakers  if  we  fol- 
lowed that  rule.  Now,  I  will  confess  that  I  am  never  so 
tired  of  myself  as  when  I  have  been  doing  the  '  exceed- 
ing proper,'  as,  for  instance,  calling  on  Ethel  Servier's 
aunt,  Mrs.  Springster,  who  has  just  returned  from  a  two 
years'  visit  to  a  brother  in  England,  who  is  a  baronet,  or 
a  duke,  or  something  like  that.  Really,  at  such  times  I 
begin  to  doubt  if  I  am  a  human  being  or  a  mere  talking 
automaton.  It  may  not  be  well-bred  to  be  impulsive, 
Wawona,  but  it  is  honest.  When  you  have  talked  over 
a  person  or  subject  with  me  in  my  impulsive  moods,  you 
have  my  real,  true,  honest  ideas  ;  but  when  you  have  fin- 
ished a  discussion  with  Mrs.  Springster,  you  have  merely 
gotten  what  she  thinks  ought  to  be  the  sentiments  of 
that  conscienceless  and  indefinable  class  known  as  well- 
bred  people.  As  for  me,"  she  said  warmly,  now  that  she 
felt  that  she  had  turned  the  conversation  into  lines  which 


/  SWEAR.  35 

dissolved  any  suspicions  which  her  cousin  may  have 
had  of  wet  eyes,  "give  me  for  friends  or  companions  the 
people  who  appreciate  and  do  things  because  their  own 
ideas  and  their  own  desires  impel  them,  and  not  because 
they  think  it  is  the  'proper  caper'  to  do  so." 

Wawona  Brooke  was  somewhat  surprised  at  the 
amount  of  thought  displayed  by  her  cousin,  and  felt  that 
she  had  misjudged  her  to  a  certain  extent,  and  was  try- 
ing to  formulate  an  answer,  when  the  necessity  for  it  was 
prevented  by  Fanny  turning  to  her,  and  saying  in  an 
off-hand,  girlish  way : 

"Mr.  Morrison  was  here  tonight." 

Had  she  not  been  so  interested  in  her  own  thoughts, 
she  might  have  noticed  that  Fanny  watched  her  very 
closely  to  see  the  effect  the  announcement  would  have 
upon  her. 

As  it  was,  Wawona  answered  quite  unconcernedly  : 

"  I  expected  he  would  be,"  and  then  added :  "  Did  he 
have  a  chance  to  see  Uncle  Amos  ? " 

"  No,  why  ? "  said  Fanny,  trying  to  repress  the  beating 
of  her  heart,  which  she  felt  certain  her  cousin  must  hear, 
because  it  sounded  so  distinctly  to  herself. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  make  a  confidante  t)f  you, 
Fanny,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  not  having  noticed  any- 
thing out  of  the  way  in  Fanny's  manner, — "  and  I  cannot 
determine  exactly  how  to  commence,  as  it  is  my  first 
experience  in  such  matters.  But  I  suppose  the  best  way 
to  do  is  to  accept  your  theory,  and  follow  first  impulses, 
so  I  will  begin.  Mr.  Morrison  has  proposed  to  me,  and 
I  have  consented  to  allow  him  to  ask  the  permission  of 
your  father,  as  my  guardian,  to  our  marriage.  There ! " 
she  said,  looking  up  at  Fanny,  "  I  suppose  you  think 
that  frightfully  ill-bred  and  lacking  in  impulse,  but  nev- 
ertheless it  is  my  way." 


36  I  SWEAR. 

Fanny  wondered  what  Wawona's  feelings  would  be,  if 
she  could  realize  what  those  few  words  meant  to  her. 

There  came  over  her  a  sort  of  numbness — a  feeling  as 
though  her  thoughts  had  become  chaotically  entangled. 
She  could  not  tell  where  to  begin  to  disentangle  them. 

She  had  been  prepared  for  something  like  this  an^ 
nouncement  for  the  last  week  ;  but  now  that  it  had  come, 
it  fairly  stunned  her. 

The  thought  flashed  across  her  mind  that  she  must 
congratulate  her  cousin  at  once,  or  else  arouse  her  sus-> 
picions.  She  hardly  dared  to  trust  herself,  but  finally 
summoning  up  all  the  sang-froid  she  could,  said  hesitat- 
ingly : 

"  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you,  my  dear  Wawona  ;  are 
you  sure  he  is  good  enough  for  you  ?  " 

She  knew  that  she  ought  to  kiss  her,  but  hardly  dared 
to  trust  her  emotions  so  far. 

"  Of  course  he  is  good  enough  for  me.  What  a  peculiar 
question,"  Wawona  answered,  without  taking  her  eyes 
from  the  purse  she  held  in  her  hands,  a  position  she  had 
assumed  after  having  made  her  announcement  to  Fanny. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  think  everything  about  this  courtship 
has  been  peculiar  ?  We  have  been,  from  the  first,  more 
than  ordinarily  interested  in  each  other,  yet  he  has  kissed 
me  but  once,  and  then  he  seemed  to  feel  as  if  he  ought 
to  apologize  for  doing  it." 

Kissed  her  but  once  !  And  yet  kissed  me  fifty  times 
tonight !  What  can  he  mean  ?  came  over  the  poor  girl's 
mind,  as  she  tried  bravely  to  check  her  emotions. 

Again  she  realized  that  she  must  do  something,  or  her 
courage  would  fail  her.  So,  with  a  mighty  effort  at  non- 
chalance, she  said : 

"Why  does  it  seem  so  strange?  Are  you  accustomed 
to  being  kissed  more  than  once  ? " 

Immediately  after  she  had  asked  the  question,    she 


I  SWEAR.  37 

would  have  given  half  her  chances  of  heaven  to  have  it 
unsaid  ;  for  Wawona  blushed,  became  very  confused,  and 
having  looked  down  intently  at  the  purse  in  her  hand  for 
a  few  minutes,  began  to  nervously  open  and  shut  it,  as 
if  trying  to  determine  what  and  how  to  answer.  Finally 
she  said  in  a  slow  and  measured  way  : 

"  No :  you  know,  Fanny,  I  am  not  accustomed  to  being 
kissed." 

"There,  there,  Wawona,  that  was  only  a  joke.  Of 
course  not ;  I  only  meant  that  in  fun.  Don't  be  angry 
with  me,"  hurriedly  returned  Fanny,  fearful  that  in  her 
desire  to  dispel  her  own  uneasiness,  she  had  caused  her 
cousin,  whom  in  reality  she  dearly  loved,  more  confusion 
than  she  really  intended. 

Wawona  felt  that  she  had  shown  more  temper  than 
she  should,  and  answered  : 

"  Oh,  no,  that  is  all  right,  my  dear  little  cousin.  That 
was  not  the  occasion  of  my  hesitation.  Truth  to  tell,  I 
was  deliberating  whether  to  confide  a  little  happening  in 
my  life,  when  I  was  kissed.  And  as  you  are  the  only  per- 
son to  whom  I  ever  gave  confidence,  I  suppose  I  might." 

"Oh,  please  do.  I  just  love  confidences  ;  and  I  know 
how  to  keep  them,  too,  if  I  am  a  girl,"  she  said,  some- 
thing of  her  old  piquancy  having  returned,  now  that  she 
felt  assured  that  her  feelings  had  escaped  detection. 

"Yes,  I  know  you  can,"  Wawona  said  deliberately,  as 
if  weighing  in  her  mind  how  to  proceed. 

"  And  as  this  one  is  so  dear  a  confidence,  I  want  you 
to  be  more  than  usually  circumspect.  Uo  you  remember 
that  I  was  once  very  much  in  love  with  a  young  senior 
at  Harvard? 

"Oh,  yes  !  We  all  thought  you  were  engaged  to  him," 
said  Fanny,  glad  to  know  that  the  confidence  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  herself. 

302410 


38  I  SWEAR. 

"  Let  me  see ;  what  was  his  name  ?  I  have  forgotten 
it." 

"No,  I  do  not  want  to  recall  his  name  to  you,"  replied 
her  cousin,  "because  I  prefer  the  confidence  to  be  im- 
personal. Have  you  any  remembrance  of  how  he  looked 
at  all  ?  Did  it  ever  strike  you  that  Paul  Morrison  looked 
like  him?" 

Fanny  found  herself  unconsciously  flinching  at  the 
mention  of  Morrison's  name.  She  had  just  been  confi- 
dently assuring  herself  that  her  self-possession  had  re- 
turned, when  this  allusion  to  him  somewhat  disconcerted 
her. 

She  gave  a  hurried  glance  at  her  cousin,  to  see  if  there 
was  any  suspicion  of  her  feelings,  but  found  her  still  in- 
tently gazing  at  her  purse,  whose  clasp  she  continued  to 
open  and  shut,  in  her  nervousness. 

Finally  Fanny  said,  bravely  returning  to  the  subject : 

"  No ;  but  that  probably  explains  why  I  always  had  a 
feeling  that  I  had  known  Mr.  Morrison  before." 

Then,  to  direct  the  conversation  away  from  danger  to 
herself,  she  said  : 

"  But  about  our  little  confidence,  Wawona  ? " 

She  went  over  and  put  her  arm  around  her  cousin's 
waist,  now  completely  at  ease,  for  she  was  assured  there 
was  no  suspicion  of  her  own  position  in  the  matter. 

"Well,"  Wawona  answered,  as  she  turned  and  kissed 
her  cousin  in  a  very  impetuous  manner  for  her,  as  if  her 
thoughts  had  completely  undermined  her  usual  compos- 
ure :  "  Yes,  I  was  kissed  by  a  man,  and  I  think  I  shall 
remember  the  kiss  to  my  dying  day.  You  recall  when 
I  went  to  Susie  DeMarques's  wedding  in  Albany,  before 
I  started  for  the  White  Mountains  that  summer  ? " 

"Yes,  I  remember  the  exact  day  ;  it  was  two  days  after 
your  class  went  to  Harvard,"  Fanny  answered,  interest- 
edly. 


/  SWEAR.  39 

"Well,  Paul  —  there,"  Wawona  said,  blushing  a  deep 
red,  "  I  did  n't  intend  to  use  his  name,  but  I  suppose  the 
least  said,  the  soonest  mended.  Paul  came  down  to  the 
train  to  see  us  off.  I  remember  now,  you  did  not  go, 
because  you  were  going  to  a  party  or  something,  so  only 
Uncle  Amos  and  I  went.  Finally,  Paul  made  up  his 
mind  to  run  down  a  couple  of  stations  with  us.  It  was 
the  old  "  New  York  express,"  and  left  at  7:55  in  the  even- 
ing. Every  single  detail  of  that  long  ride  is  distinctly 
fixed  in  my  memory,  you  see,"  she  said,  hesitating  a  mo- 
ment, as  if  trying  to  determine  whether  to  continue. 

With  a  little  toss  of  her  head,  she  added  : 

"  I  never  was  so  blissfully  happy  in  my  life.  He  kept 
going  from  one  station  to  the  next,  until  it  was  so  late 
that  the  porter  had  made  up  most  of  the  berths  in  our 
sleeper,"  she  hesitated  again,  and  Fanny  nestled  closer  to 
her,  without  saying  a  word,  a  mark  of  affection,  by  the 
way,  which  produced  the  desired  result,  for  Wawona  con- 
tinued : 

"I  knew  he  wanted  to  propose,  and  I  wanted  him  to 
do  so.  I  felt,  too,  that  he  thought  it  would  be  prema- 
ture. At  last,  at  Springfield,  (I  remember  as  well  as 
if  it  had  been  yesterday,)  he  said  :  "  Well,  I  suppose  the 
porter  will  be  putting  me  off  by  force,  unless  I  go."  Then 
he  arose  and  shook  hands  with  me.  It  was  almost  eleven 
o'clock.  As  I  say,  he  had  kept  on  going  from  station  to 
station  for  the  last  two  hours.  The  rest  of  the  party 
except  your  father  had  retired  an  hour  before.  You  know 
what  a  lovely  chaperone  your  father  is  —  he  sat  in  a  seat 
just  ahead  of  us,  reading.  Paul  went  up  and  bade  him 
good-night.  Then  he  came  back  to  shake  hands  with  me 
again.  The  porter  was  in  the  little  smoking-room  at  the 
other  end  of  the  car. 

"As  Paul  took  my  hand,  I  seemed  to  feel  my  whole  being 
warm  toward  him.  I  arose  and  intended  to  walk  with  him 


40  /  SWEAR. 

to  the  platform,  and  see  him  off.  You  remember  what  an 
odd  little  narrow  passage  there  is  at  the  end  of  a  Pullman 
car,  with  little  swinging  doors  at  both  ends.  Well,  when 
we  got  in  there,  he  still  had  my  hand,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  was  never  so  sorry  to  part  with  any  one  in  my  life. 
He  appeared  to  feel  so,  too,  for  he  stopped,  turned,  took 
my  other  hand  and  said  :  '  I  suppose  I  may  not  see  you  for 
three  long  months.  It  will  seem  like  an  age  to  me.  Good- 
by  !'  Then  he  hesitated  a  little,  turned  again,  and  — took 
me  in  his  arms,  and  said  :  '  Sweetheart ! '  Then  he  kissed 
me ;  and  then  "  —  she  stopped,  apparently  trying  to 
determine  whether  to  proceed. 

Fanny  prompted.     "  Yes,  and  —  " 

"  Well,  I  kissed  him,  twice.  It  was  only  a  brief  little 
second,  Fanny,  but  it  has  passed  into  my  memory  as  the 
way  a  man  ought  to  propose." 

Her  voice  had  gradually  assumed  a  sad  tone,  as  if  the 
reminiscence  brought  regret ;  but  she  dashed  the  feeling 
aside,  and  turning  to  her  cousin,  said  earnestly  : 

"Do  not  for  the  world  ever  refer  to  this,  for  it  is,  of 
course,  the  dearest  memory  of  my  life  —  it  is  one  of  the 
idols  of  my  memory,  an  idol  which  I  worship  as  I  fancy 
the  Hindoos  worship  Vishnu." 

"  That  almost  amounted  to  an  engagement,  did  n't  it  ? " 
said  Fanny.  "  How  was  it  broken  ? " 

"  Well,"  Wawona  replied,  "  I  will  merely  say  that  there 
was  a  peculiar  estrangement,  and  we  have  never  seen  each 
other  since,"  adding,  half  beneath  her  breath,  "to  speak." 

Both  sat  there,  without  saying  a  word,  for  quite  a  time, 
each  wrapped  in  her  own  thoughts. 

Then  Wawona  roused  herself  and  said :  "  Come,  kiss 
me  good-night,  and  say  something  pretty." 

"  Are  you  sure  he  is  not  Mr.  Morrison,  Wawona  ? 
Would  n't  it  be  romantic  if  it  should  turn  out  to  be  your 
Harvard  lover  ?  " 


I  SWEAR.  41 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  certain  of  that  :  Mr.  Morrison  is  so 
English  in  his  ideas.  But  I  will  confess  I  never  before 
saw  such  a  resemblance  in  appearance  between  two  peo- 
ple in  my  life.  No,  we  cannot  give  you  that  chapter  for 
a  romance." 

She  again  turned  and  kissed  her  cousin. 

"  Now,  good-night,  dear." 

"  Good-night,"  replied  Fanny. 

Miss  Brooke  arose  to  leave  the  room,  but  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  said  : 

"  You  have  not  told  me  yet  whether  he  saw  Uncle 
Amos.  I  want  to  find  out  if  I  am  really  and  truly  en- 
gaged." 

Fanny  started.  Poor  girl,  she  had  never  told  a  direct 
lie  in  her  life,  and  now  here  she  was  almost  forced  into 
one.  If  not,  she  must  confess  her  own  weakness,  and 
at  the  same  time  ruin  the  peace  of  her  cousin's  mar- 
ried life.  Then,  remembering  she  had  already  deter- 
mined that  the  scene  would  never  be  referred  to  again 
by  either  her  father  or  Morrison,  she  summoned  all  her 
self-possession  to  answer  with  technical  correctness  : 

"  I  think  papa  had  something  else  on  his  mind,  and 
put  the  interview  off  till  another  time." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  I  must  wait,"  Wawona  answered, 
and  after  another  "  good-night  "  she  stooped  and  kissed 
her  cousin  once  more. 

"  Sleep  well,"  she  added,  as  she  closed  the  door. 

Sleep  well !  The  idea  of  that  poor  little  harrassed 
mind  sleeping  well. 

Fanny  locked  the  door,  let  down  her  hair,  ran  her 
hands  through  her  bangs  two  or  three  times  in  a  hyster- 
ical sort  of  a  way,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
trying  to  gather  her  scattered  thoughts,  and  recover  from 
the  nervousness  which  the  restraint  of  her  feelings  for 


42  /  SWEAR. 

the  last  fifteen  minutes  had  brought  on,  now  that  the 
necessity  for  restraint  had  been  removed. 

"  He,  of  course,  thinks  he  has  jilted  me,  and  that  I  am 
dying  from  a  broken  heart.  How  can  I  prevent  it  ? " 
she  said  half  aloud. 

"  Proposed  to  Wawona  and  kissed  her  only  once,  and 
yet  he  has  kissed  me  a  hundred  times  ! "  she  murmured, 
as  she  suddenly  came  to  a  halt  in  her  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room.  "  What  is  he  thinking  about  ?  What 
can  he  think  of  me  ?  Why  does  he  do  it  ?  "  came  flitting 
through  her  mind.  "  He  cannot  think  I  am  bad — I  know 
he  does  not,  for  he  always  classed  our  kisses  among  the 
former  of  his  category  of  this  evening." 

She  stopped  and  studied  as  if  trying  to  follow  a  thought. 

"  Is  he  in  love  with  me,  and  marrying  Wawona  for  some 
other  reason  ?  "  she  finally  said. 

"  No,  he  cannot  be  marrying  Wawona  for  her  money, 
for  I  will  have  more  than  she.  Yet  if  he  loves  her  more 
than  me,  why  has  he  shown  his  affection  to  me  exter- 
nally more  than  to  her  ? " 

Her  thoughts  crowded  upon  her  so  fast  that  she  gave 
up  all  idea  of  thinking.  She  would  have  given  the  world 
to  have  been  able  to  run  over  to  Ethel  Servier,  her  most 
intimate  friend,  have  a  good  cry,  confide  the  whole  mat- 
ter to  her,  and  receive  her  condolence. 

She  was  about  to  make  up  her  mind  to  do  so,  late  as 
it  was,  when  she  suddenly  determined  that  nobody  should 
know  of  this — not  even  Ethel ;  that  this  must  be  one  of 
her  thoughts  sacred  to  herself,  and  she  found  herself 
quoting  a  little  scrap  of  newspaper  doggerel : 

"  Your  goods,  buy  them,  sell  them  in  the  mart ; 
Of  your  fortune  to  the  poor  give  a  part  ; 
Blessings  on  the  open  pocket ; 
But  your  secret,  keep  it,  lock  it 
In  your  heart." 


/  SWEAR.  43 

After  a  little  time  she  regained  her  composure,  and  sat 
upright  on  the  bed,  where  she  had  thrown  herself. 

She  began  to  try  to  analyze  and  understand  her  own 
feelings. 

She  knew  herself  to  be  an  "  odd  girl,"  and  even  felt 
that  she  was  at  times  erratically  improper,  if  the  straight- 
laced  of  the  world  be  mathematically  correct  in  their 
various  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  propriety  and  impro- 
priety. 

At  this  particular  moment  in  her  short  life  she  seemed 
to  herself  more  odd  than  ever.  Her  feeling  in  regard  to 
Morrison  was  one  which  she  could  not  analyze  with  any 
degree  of  satisfaction  to  her  own  mind.  That  she  was 
interested  in  him, —  greatly  interested, —  was  beyond  per- 
adventure  ;  but  was  there  love,  or  any  spark  of  love  in 
it  ?  That  was  what  bothered  her  just  now.  She  knew 
that  in  him  or  in  her  relations  to  and  with  him  she  had 
realized  —  more  than  ever  before  —  two  cardinal  princi- 
ples as  component,  not  to  say  vital,  phases  in  the  com- 
position of  her  womanhood.  The  first,  that,  in  common 
with  the  world  at  large,  in  conformity  with  the  principle, 
Natura  abhorret  vacuum,  her  nature  demanded  that 
she  be  interested  in  some  one,  to  escape  from  having  an 
omnipresent  longing,  amounting  to  a  social  void;  and 
second,  that  when  with  Paul  Morrison,  she  found  her 
particular  void  filled,  as  it  had  never  been  before  in  all 
her  life.  Whether  it  was  that  she  needed  the  excitement 
of  the  natural  antagonism  of  the  sexes,  and  he  furnished 
it  in  a  greater  degree  than  any  other  man  whom  she  had 
chanced  to  meet,  or  whether  there  was  a  deeper,  grander 
arousing  of  her  nature  —  whether  her  love  had  budded 
—  that  was  the  question. 

As  she  sat  there,  working  at  her  problem,  the  lines  of 
that  singer  whose  earlier  work  promised  so  much  from 
his  genius,  and  whose  latter  songs  so  unhappily  failed 


44  /  SWEAR. 

to  bear  out  the  promise,  ran  through  her  mind,  as  she 
recalled  Owen  Meredith's  "  Lucille." 

"In  Rome — in  the  Forum — there  open'd  one  night, 
A  gulf.     All  the  augurs  turned  pale  at  the  sight. 
In  this  omen  the  anger  of  heaven  they  read. 
Men  consulted  the  gods  ;  then  the  oracle  said  : 
'  Ever  open  this  gulf  shall  endure,  till  at  last 
That  which  Rome  hath  most  precious,  within  it  be  cast.' 
The  Romans  threw  in  it  their  corn  and  their  stuff, 
But  the  gulf  yawn'd  as  wide.     Rome  seemed  likely  enough 
To  be  ruined  ere  this  rent  in  her  heart  she  could  choke. 
Then  Curtius,  revering  the  oracle,  spoke  : 
'  O,  Quirites  !    To  this  Heaven's  question  is  come  ! 
What  to  Rome  is  most  precious  ?    The  manhood  of  Rome  ! ' 
He  plunged, — and  the  gulf  closed.     The  tale  is  not  new, 
But  the  moral  applies  many  ways,  and  is  true. 
How,  for  hearts  rent  in  twain,  shall  the  curse  be  destroy'd  ? 
'  T  is  a  warm  human  life  that  must  fill  up  the  void. 
Through  many  a  heart  runs  the  rent  in  the  fable ; 
But  who  to  discover  a  Curtius  is  able  ?  " 

Fanny  did  not  care  to  admit  that  her  heart  was  "rent," 
and  she  was  even  trying  to  combat  the  thought  which 
was  impressing  itself  on  her  mind  with  almost  uncon- 
trollable force,  that  "'Tis  a  warm  human  life  that  must 
fill  up  the  void  "  in  her  nature  if  life  were  to  be  worth 
the  living.  But  was  Morrison  to  be  the  Curtius  ? 

"  Nonsense  ! "  she  said,  as  she  roused  up  and  recalled 
fully  all  she  had  so  recently  been  told  by  Wawona. 
"This  is  not  Salt  Lake ;  we  are  not  Mormons  ;  nor  could 
I  share  my  love  with  another,  even  nominally.  No,  no  ; 
a  Curtius  may  be  my  greatest  need  ;  indeed,  I  almost  be- 
lieve it  is,  but  Mr.  Paul  Morrison  is  not  he,  by  a  long 
chalk." 

Immediately  came  back  the  old  thought : 

"  But  how  in  the  world  am  I  to  keep  him  from  think- 
ing I  am  dying  of  a  broken  heart  ? " 


I  SWEAR.  45 

She  arose  and  moved  over  to  her  writing-desk,  then 
sat  down  after  a  moment,  and  having  put  her  elbows  on 
the  desk,  dropped  her  chin  into  her  upturned  palms,  and 
became  lost  in  thought,  gazing  steadfastly  before  her. 
Finally  she  realized  that  she  was  looking  straight  at  a 
bust  picture  of  herself  in  full  dress,— a  photograph,  by 
the  way,  which  Morrison  had  pretended  to  admire  very 
much  in  the  proof,  and  one  of  which  she  had,  at  the 
time,  promised  him.  The  sight  of  it  gave  her  a  thought. 
She  took  down  her  paper,  then  wavered  a  moment,  put 
the  paper  away  and  was  about  to  close  the  desk,  when 
just  before  it  closed  she  stopped  with  her  finger  between 
the  lid  and  desk,  and  hesitated  again,  as  if  arguing  with 
herself  whether  or  not  to  carry  out  the  thought. 

At  last  she  opened  it  with  an  air  which  plainly  said  she 
had  determined  upon  her  course  of  action,  and  was  going 
to  carry  out  that  course,  if  it  was  the  last  thing  she  did 
on  earth. 

"  I  shall  get  a  letter  to  him  tomorrow.  I  must  get  it 
to  him  before  he  confides  anything  of  this  to  me,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "else  he  will  always  think  he  has  jilted 
me,  as  all  the  rest  of  my  friends  may." 

Then  she  thought : 

"  Poor  Wawona  !  She  is  the  only  one,  in  all  probabil 
ity,  who  does  not  know  that  he  has  been  flirting  with 
me." 

At  this  she  said  aloud  : 

"  Yes,  the  picture  is  all  the  excuse  I  need." 

Her  face  assumed  a  more  determined  expression,  now 
that  she  had  decided  upon  her  course  of  action,  and  she 
half  forgot  her  sorrow  in  her  anxiety  over  the  composi- 
tion of  her  letter. 

She  evolved  the  following : 
"  DEAR  MR.  MORRISON  : 

"  I  inclose  you  the  picture  of  myself  I  promised  you 


.46  /  S  WEAR. 

about  a  week  ago.     I  hope  you  will  like  it  as  well  as  you 
did  the  proof. 

"  Your  call  this  evening  was  so  charming  and  interest- 
ing that  I  find  myself  paraphrasing  the  quotation  from 
Will  Carleton's  '  Gone  with  a  Handsomer  Man ': 

'  To  appreciate  heaven  well, 
Just  give  a  man  about  fifteen  minutes  of  hell — ' 

into 

'  To  appreciate  hell  on  earth, 
Just  let  a  poor  girl  know  a  little  of  heaven's  worth.' 

"  I  guess  our  scene  in  '  the  den  '  could  be  called  a  '  little 
of  heaven  '  could  n't  it  ?  And  perhaps  you  think  our 
scene  with  papa  could  be  called  a  little  of  the  other  place. 

"Now,  do  not  think  papa  will  ever  refer  to  that 
matter  again,  because  his  hatred  of  '  scenes,'  as  he  calls 
them,  will  prevent  his  ever  speaking  of  it. 

"  By  the  way, I  want  to  speak  of  another  matter.  Really, 
my  dear  friend,  we  must  stop  our  little  flirtation,  inter- 
esting as  it  is.  I  suggest  that  we  enter  into  an  armistice. 
You  see  this  might  become  a  confirmed  habit,  and  as  we 
cannot  keep  it  up  forever,  I  suppose  we  had  better  de- 
termine on  the  terms  of  the  truce  the  next  time  I  see 
you.  So  be  prepared  to  see  me  come  down  with  the 
white  flag  flying,  to  indicate  my  intention  to  ask  for  a 
cessation  of  hostilities,  the  next  time  you  call. 

"  Till  which  time,  may  it  be  soon,  I  am 
"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  FANNY  NORTHROP. 

"BOSTON,  May  26,  18— " 

"There,"  she  said  with  a  feeling  of  keen  satisfaction 
as  she  pushed  the  letter  back,  "  he  will  never  guess  the 
girl  who  wrote  that  note  was  about  to  go  to  bed  and  cry 
her  silly  eyes  out.  I  believe  it  did  me  good  to  write  that 


/  SWEAR.  47 

letter.  I  have  almost  regained  my  spirits.  '  Armistice ' 
sounds  first  rate  ;  sort  of  looks  as  if  I  was  shaking  him." 

Then  she  started  to  read  it  over  again,  but  before  she 
was  half  through  gave  a  deep  sigh,  as  she  realized  that 
joking  to  herself  was  not  going  to  ease  the  matter  any. 

She  felt  that  she  was  on  the  verge  of  another  cry,  and 
so  with  a  mighty  struggle  shook  off  the  despondency, 
and  determined  to  go  to  bed  and  sleep  over  it. 

This,  however,  she  found  was  easier  thought  than 
done ;  for  her  active  brain  fancied  a  thousand  different 
ways  in  which  her  friends  might  view  the  situation,  and 
this  kept  her  from  sleeping,  until  at  last  she  dropped  to 
sleep. 

In  the  morning  she  lay  for  a  time  trying  to  determine 
whether  toforward  the  letter.  She  decided  to  send  it  with- 
out reading  it  again,  as  she  feared  a  re-reading  would 
cause  another  fit  of  the  blues. 

Before  she  arose,  however,  she  made  up  her  mind  that 
it  would  not  be  safe  for  her  to  see  Morrison  again  until 
she  had  had  time  to  compose  her  feelings. 


CHAPTER   III. 

EARLY  in  the  fifties,  Florence,  the  eldest  sister  of 
Amos  Northrop,  had  married  Charles  Gaylord,  a  rising 
young  Boston  lawyer. 

The  young  people  became  affected  with  the  gold  fever 
then  lately  become  epidemic,  and  started  for  California. 

On  landing  at  San  Francisco,  the  keen  Yankee  lawyer 
at  once  took  in  the  situation,  and  realized  that  the  city 
was  some  day  to  be  the  metropolis  and  shipping  and  dis- 
tributing center  for  the  whole  of  this  new  western  coun- 


48  I  SWEAR. 

try.  Hence  he  made  it  a  principle  to  obtain  title  to  all 
the  real  estate  he  possibly  could,  and  had  several  schemes 
on  hand  for  the  acquirement  of  acre  property  in  the  sub- 
urbs, when  he  was  accidentally  drowned. 

This  left  his  estate  in  an  involved  shape,  for  in  his 
vaulting  ambition  he  had  mortgaged  every  present  pos- 
session, in  order  to  acquire  more. 

The  widow  arose  to  the  occasion.  Suddenly  thrown  on 
her  own  resources,  she  began  to  develop  her  worldly 
capabilities.  Instead  of  being  dependent  on  others,  she 
gave  her  whole  mind  toward  carrying  out  her  husband's 
ideas  herself.  Thus  she  not  only  developed  strong  inde- 
pendence, but,  with  San  Francisco's  wonderful  growth, 
reared  a  handsome  fortune  out  of  what,  improperly  han- 
dled, would  have  been  a  wrecked  estate. 

This  financial  independence  had  brought  with  it  a  com- 
plete self-reliance  which  extended  into  her  very  thought. 
She  became  a  brilliant,  brainy  woman.  None  of  the 
bounds  which  usually  circumscribe  women  in  their  ambi- 
tions had  any  existence  for  her. 

She  acted  for  herself,  thought  for  herself,  chose  friends 
for  herself  ;  and  everything  about  her  entire  household 
bore  evidence  of  her  striking  individuality. 

While  caring  little  for  the  conventionalities  which  most 
society  people  deemed  absolutely  essential,  she  had  a 
keen  sense  of  honor.  Her  very  freedom  of  thought 
caused  her  to  be  unusually  strict  in  all  she  felt  necessary 
to  be  true  to  herself. 

A  peculiar  bond  of  friendship  had  grown  up  between 
Fanny  and  her  aunt,  during  the  four  years  they  had 
been  together.  Mrs.  Gaylord  was  very  fond  of  the  bright, 
happy,  cheerful  girl.  In  fact,  her  niece  and  her  son  Fred 
stood  about  equal  in  her  affections.  Nothing  either  of 
them  wanted  was  ever  denied. 

One  of  her  peculiar  theories  was  never  to  permit  tern- 


I  SWEAR.  49 

porary  local  affairs  to  trouble  her.  Everything  in  her 
household  was  controlled  on  the  idea  of  attaining  happi- 
ness by  causing  discontentment  to  be  absent.  If  Fred 
wanted  to  lie  in  bed  in  the  morning, —  all  right,  provided 
it  did  not  interfere  with  his  duties.  If  Fanny  wanted  to 
take  the  phaeton  and  be  gone  all  day,  —  all  right,  pro- 
vided she  made  proper  explanations  afterward. 

Her  whole  idea  of  a  happy  household  was  to  study  what 
each  of  her  charges  desired,  and  permit  them  to  do  it, 
if  there  was  nothing  radically  wrong  in  the  doing. 

" There  is  none  of  the  'What  will  Mrs.  Grundy  say  ? ' 
atmosphere  about  my  household,"  she  oftentimes  said. 

This  kind  indulgence  made  her  very  dear  to  Fanny,  and 
they  were  the  warmest  of  friends.  Thus,  gradually,  the 
aunt's  mind  and  ways  had  formed  an  impression  on  the 
girl,  and  had  obtained  a  material  control  over  the  pecu- 
culiarly  susceptible  niece. 

Since  Fanny's  return  as  a  young  lady,  her  father  had 
found  her  an  interesting  study.  The  influence  of  his 
sister  was  apparent.  Alone  with  him  the  girl  had  shown 
that  she  had  been  thrown  into  the  company  of  advanced 
thinkers,  and  had  done  considerable  reading.  At  the 
same  time,  while  with  others,  she  seemed  to  hide  all  the 
fruits  of  her  reading  under  a  heedless,  light  address.  Her 
life,  vivacity,  and  originality  made  him  very  proud  of  her ; 
and  yet  her  almost  absolute  indifference  to  many  of  the 
conventional  ideas  which  he  had  always  considered  indis- 
pensable almost  shocked  him. 

This  same  butterfly  jollity  had  captivated  a  considera- 
ble number  of  Boston's  four  hundred.  Among  her 
numerous  conquests  —  in  fact,  the  one  whom  she  had 
classed  as  "  a  perfect  slave  "  in  her  tearful  dialogue  with 
her  image — was  Frank  Jender,  the  son  of  a  sister  of  the 
first  wife  of  Amos  Northrop. 

Jender  was  a  New  York  man,  and  was  at  that  time  a 


5o  I  SWEAR, 

junior  at  Harvard  College.  His  relationship  to  Mr. 
Northrop  gave  him  admission  to  the  house  at  all  hours, 
and  the  next  morning  after  Fanny's  unhappy  experience 
he  was  on  hand  bright  and  early,  to  try  to  have  an  inter- 
view with  her  before  he  went  out  to  his  work  at  Cam- 
bridge. 

Fanny  had  determined  that  she  would  run  off  for  a 
trip  somewhere,  so  as  to  escape  the  cross-questioning  of 
her  friends  when  the  announcement  of  Wawona's  engage- 
ment came,  and  hence  was  in  no  mood  to  entertain  even 
"  slaves."  So,  when  Frank  sauntered  into  the  dining- 
room,  she  had  prepared  to  retire  to  her  own  room. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Fanny  ?  "  Frank  asked,  notic- 
ing the  absence  of  her  usual  cordiality.  "  What 's  the 
matter  with  you,  anyway  ?  You  have  been  treating  me 
awfully  cool  of  late." 

Fanny  saw  that  she  was  caught  for  a  chat,  because  to 
evade  it  might  arouse  his  suspicions  of  her  recent  un- 
happy defeat  in  a  social  battle — and  that  would  never  do 
in  a  "  slave."  She,  therefore,  determined  to  take  the 
initiative,  and  turn  the  conversation  wholly  off  her  own 
affairs. 

In  order  to  create  the  impression  that  her  mood  was 
the  direct  converse  of  the  one  which  the  remembrance 
of  her  last  night's  experience  had  brought  on,  she  as- 
sumed an  artificially  saucy,  jaunty  air. 

"But  I  must  do  something  to  get  rid  of  you,  Frank. 
And  really,  the  easiest  way  to  do  it  is  to  be  cold.  Now 
Frank,"  she  said,  "won't  you  be  sensible,  and  go  away 
for  a  while  and  flirt  with  some  other  girl,  and  let  me  for- 
get how  much  you  are  in  love  with  me  ?  I  may  really 
learn  to  like  you,  if  you  do." 

Jender  would  probably  have  admired  her  for  her  hon- 
esty if  he  had  not  been  the  subject  under  discussion.  As 
it  was,  he  twirled  his  handsome  mustache,  straightened 


/  SWEAR.  51 

up  his  boyish  but  athletic  form  to  its  full  height  of  six 
feet  two,  and  said  with  a  forced  dignity  : 

"  Well,  Miss  Northrop,  if  I  am  so  tiresome,  I  presume 
the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  say  '  good  day.'  I  suppose 
I  may  count  this  a  rescinding  of  our  engagement  for 
Thursday.  I  offer  you  my  most  abject  apology  for  hav- 
ing caused  you  the  weariness  of  which  you  complain,  and 
trust  that  the  kindness  I  will  do  you  hereafter  by  pre- 
venting myself  from  intruding  on  your  highness'  pres- 
ence, will  somewhat  offset  and  make  amends  for  your 
past  sufferings." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  a  goose !  Now,  see  here,  Frank,"  she 
said,  not  content  to  let  him  go  away  angry,  "  you  make 
just  the  nicest,  dearest  distant  relative  one  could  wish 
for ;  but  as  a  spoon  you  are  not  a  success.  You  haven't 
had  practice  enough — you  are  really  too  much  in  earnest. 
Girls  don't  like  to  know  they  own  a  man  ;  the  fun  all 
fades  away  when  you  are  sure  you  have  him  hooked. 
Hooked  !  that's  just  it ;  it's  like  fishing.  Who  ever  cares 
to  fish  for  catfish  ?  As  soon  as  you  throw  your  hook  over 
they  snap  at  it  so  voraciously,  that  all  you  have  to  do  is 
to  pull  them  into  the  boat.  It  makes  very  little  differ- 
ence whether  the  hook  is  baited  or  not.  But  when  you 
come  to  fish  for  black  bass  or  brook  trout— gamey  fish, — 
you  have  to  be  so  careful  about  selecting  the  right  bait, 
and  so  careful  about  throwing  the  line,  and  so  careful  that 
he  does  n't  get  away  while  you  are  landing  him,  or  that  the 
line  will  break,  or  a  thousand  other  little  things,  that  it 
really  becomes  interesting.  It 's  the  fish  you  are  not  cer- 
tain you  can  catch,  and  are  not  sure  you  have  caught,  after 
you  have  him  hooked,  which  interests  you  in  fishing. 
Now  you  go  and  get  half-way  in  love  with  some  other 
girl,  and  I  may  become  so  interested  in  winning  you  back 
that  I  shall  fall  in  love  with  you  myself." 

He  evidently  could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether  or 


52  /  SWEAR. 

not  to  carry  out  his  original  intention  of  being  angry. 
She  saw  this,  and  determined  to  settle  it  as  "  not,"  and 
so  said  : 

"  Now  don't  go  off  and  mope  for  two  or  three  weeks. 
Go  over  and  make  love  to  Wawona.  She  is  not  inclined 
to  trifle  with  people's  affections,  and  you  can  get  up  a 
real  nice  '  platonic  friendship '  with  her.  She  is  enough 
older  than  you  are  to  prevent  your  wanting  to  be  *  spoons,' 
and  besides  she  is  a  graduate  of  Wellesley,  and  has  read 
enough  and  is  educated  enough  to  interest  a  Harvard 
junior  in  something  stable, — in  'food  for  thought/  as  Pro- 
fessor Allen  says.  I  have  been  out  in  California  so  long 
that  all  I  can  do  is  to  talk  slang,  and  do  the  '  society  act, 
and  carry  on  flirtations,  et  cetera,  et  cetera." 

Then  she  added  with  a  roguish  air,  as  she  took  his  hand 
in  a  placating,  pleading  way,  and  drew  herself  over  to 
him  in  a  sort  of  girlish  cuddle  which  made  his  face 
brighten  and  show  .that  he  had  temporarily  forgotten 
the  pique  her  words  caused  him  : 

"  Now  promise  me  that  you  will  not  break  our  engage- 
ment for  Thursday,  and  I  will  try  and  put  up  with  you, 
and  will  promise  to  give  you  two  dances." 

Suddenly  a  change  came  over  the  expression  of  his 
face  ;  he  started  to  speak,  hesitated,  thought  an  instant, 
then  withdrew  his  hand,  and  said  : 

"And  will  give  five  or  six  dances  to  that  unknown 
latest,  Mr.  Morrison." 

She  started.  He  saw  that  he  had  touched  a  sensitive 
point,  for  a  slight  flush  came  over  her  bright  face  ;  her 
laughing  eyes  sobered  and  became  downcast.  She 
absent-mindedly  began  dangling  her  collection  of  chate- 
lains  from  her  raised  hand.  Then  carefully  sorting  out 
one,  held  it  swinging  back  and  forth  in  front  of  her,  as 
she  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  lost  in  thought. 
Jender  watched  her  face  intently.  The  girl  had  been 


I  SWEAR.  53 

a  curious  study  to  him.  Occasionally  she  said  things 
which  indicated  either  a  very  broad  reading  or  a  very 
astute  mind,  and  then  the  next  instant  she  would  be 
rattling  away  on  some  society  nonsense,  with  a  half 
apology  for  having  given  him  the  idea  that  she  had 
any  truly  stable  thoughts.  The  possibility  of  reserve 
force  made  her  light  frivolity  very  enticing  to  the  youth, 
and  he  had  become  very  much  interested  in  his  cousin, 
as  he  called  her. 

"  He  is  really  the  most  peculiar  man  I  ever  knew,"  she 
said,  boldly  returning  to  Morrison,  so  that  Frank  would 
not  be  suspicious  of  the  faux  pas  of  the  night  before. 
"  Do  you  know,  it  rather  bothers  me  to  have  him  flirt 
with  me  ? " 

By  this  time  she  had  taken  to  dangling  three  or  four  of 
the  chatelains,  and  sat  back  and  watched  them  with 
affected  carelessness,  trying  bravely  to  keep  up  an  ap- 
pearance of  utter  indifference. 

"  I  imagine  it  must,  since  I  have  been  informed  that 
you  cut  dances  with  three  or  four  of  your  best  friends  to 
give  him  the  opportunity  to  be  alone  with  you  in  the  con- 
servatory at  the  Walling' s  party,  last  Wednesday  night, 
and  took  the  trouble  to  play  several  of  your  latest  airs 
on  your  guitar  with  him  alone  in  the  conservatory," 
Jender  answered,  looking  at  her  in  a  quizzing  way,  as  if 
trying  to  catch  the  effect  of  his  words. 

She  saw  that  she  dare  not  continue  in  this  strain  any 
further,  or  else  Frank  might  recall  it  when  Wawona's 
engagement  was  announced  ;  so  she  determined  to  again 
gradually  turn  the  conversation  into  other  channels,  and 
answered,  apparently  as  fully  indifferent  as  before : 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing  ;  I'm  used  to  little  things  like  that. 
What  bothers  me  is  to  have  him  flirt  with  me,  and  pre- 
tend to  be  '  gone  on  '  Wawona  at  the  same  time.  There, 
I'm  awfully  slangy,  ain't  I  ?  Well,  it  is  the  proper  thing 


54 


/  SWEAR. 


to  be  slangy  in  California,"  she  rattled  on.  "  You  see, 
they  have  an  idea  out  there  that  Boston  young  ladies 
are  all  of  the  kind  who  say  '  pinks,  prisms,  and  prunes/ 
to  leave  their  mouths  in  pretty  shape,  and  read  Dorm- 
stardt's  '  Logarithms  of  the  Diapason,'  and  other  musty 
tomes,  and  quote  Emerson  and  Carlyle ;  and  are  alto- 
gether dreary,  old,  prudish  blue-stockings.  And  so,  to 
show  them  that  we  are  not  all  of  that  kind,  I  started  in 
to  catch  on  to  their  slang ;  and  really  think  I  have  made 
progress,  don't  you  ? " 

"  Yes.  So  much  so,  that  I  think  you  are  entitled  to 
the  rank  of  professor.  But  to  return  to  Mr.  Morrison," 
he  added,  for  this  Mr.  Morrison  and  his  connection  with 
his  "  cousins  "  had  been  an  interesting  problem  with  Jen- 
der  for  over  a  fortnight ;  "  you  do  not  mean  to  tell  me 
that  good,  sensible  Wawona  Brooke,  with  all  her  ability 
and  brilliancy,  has  any  thought  of  that  fellow  ?  Why, 
from  what  I  can  learn,  she  meets  twenty  men  a  week 
who  are  a  thousand  per  cent  more  capable,  more  brilliant, 
more  original.  I  think  you  are  wrong,  and  that  because 
he  has  paid  Wawona  a  little  attention,  and  she  has  re- 
turned it  graciously,  as  she  always  does,  you  are  afraid 
that  your  '  black  bass  '  is  going  to  get  unhooked,  and  so 
you  think  she  is  caught  as  well  as  yourself."  Then  he 
continued,  with  a  smile :  "  Don't  show  him  too  plain- 
ly that  you  are  in  love,  Fanny.  Remember,  that  it 's  *  the 
fish  you  are  not  certain  you  can  catch '  which  interests 
one  in  fishing." 

"  Well  said,"  she  answered  vivaciously,  "  I  like  that. 
You  turned  my  own  guns  on  me  in  fine  style.  I  will  be 
more  careful  the  next  time  I  philosophize  with  you.  But 
really,  Frank,  you  are  wrong.  I  have  never  seen  Wa- 
wona so  interested  in  any  man  since  her  little  affair  with 
a  Harvard  student,  when  she  was  at  Wellesley." 

"  That  shows  you  are  jealous,  for  if  Wawona  ever  had 


I  SWEAR.  55 

an  affair  with  any  one,  surely  I  would  knew  of  it,"  Frank 
answered,  to  urge  her  on. 

"  No,  this  was  before  you  went  to  Harvard.  The  Welles- 
ley  seniors  went  out  to  Class  Day  at  Cambridge,  and  Wa- 
wona  was  very  much  struck  with  his  oration.  Nothing 
would  do  but  she  must  meet  him.  I  have  forgotten  what 
his  name  was  now.  But  he  was  from  out  in  Minnesota 
somewhere.  He  wrote  the  most  divine  letters  you  ever 
read.  I  think  he  sent  her  his  picture,  and  she  kept  it 
up  in  her  room  for  a  long  time." 

"  But  what  became  of  him  ?  She  is  not  the  kind  of  a 
girl  to  flirt  with  a  man,  and  then  give  him  up  for  the 
fun  of  seeing  him  drop." 

"T  don't  know,"  she  answered  absent-mindedly,  as  she 
had  determined  to  make  an  excuse  to  retire  now  that  she 
felt  certain  that  Frank  would  not  misunderstand  her 
action ;  "  she  went  down  to  Hampton  Beach  for  her  vaca- 
tion, and  after  that  she  never  spoke  of  him  at  all.  In 
fact,  she  seems  to  grow  sad  whenever  she  refers  to  him, 
so  I  never  do  nowadays.  By  the  way,  Frank,  come  to 
think  of  it,  I  may  go  down  to  Dover  this  afternoon  to 
visit  Agostine  Stonehill — I  am  expecting  a  letter  from 
her  every  minute— in  case  it  comes  I  shall  have  to  excuse 
myself  for  Thursday.  Good  morning." 

Frank  sat  and  mused  for  a  considerable  time  over 
Fanny's  suggestions  concerning  Morrison  and  Wawona 
Brooke,  whom  the  boy  almost  worshiped.  He  knew 
that  two  more  dissimilar  characters  than  Fanny  Nor- 
throp and  Wawona  Brooke  could  hardly  exist,  and  so  it 
seemed  strange  to  him  that  they  could  both  be  interested 
in  the  same  man. 

Miss  Brooke  had  been  a  very  earnest  student  while  she 
was  at  Wellesley,  and  since  her  graduation  had  given 
most  of  her  time  to  her  Browning  Club,  and  the  carrying 
out  of  numerous  little  resolves,  made  while  at  college,  to 


56  I  SWEAR. 

delve  deeper  into  certain  lines  of  literature.  She  often- 
times, however,  went  into  what  Fanny  called  "  society  " ; 
generally  with  the  idea  of  studying  the  social  phases  of 
American  life,  more  than  of  joining  in  with  the  "merry 
throng."  Occasionally,  however,  she  met  with  some 
congenial  spirit  who  would  arouse  the  social  part  of  her 
nature,  and  almost  unconsciously  she  would  find  herself 
accepting  nearly  as  many  invitations  out  as  her  cousin 
Fanny. 

As  he  sat  there,  Wawona  entered.  He  determined 
to  settle  the  Morrison  question  at  once,  so  as  soon  as 
they  had  exchanged  their  morning  greetings  he  asked  : 

"  Who  is  this  Mr.  Morrison,  of  whom  I  hear  so  much 
nowadays,  Wawona  ? " 

"  An  English  gentleman,  a  very  intimate  friend  of  Mr. 
Vansandt,"  she  answered  evasively,  as  she  had  hastily 
determined  not  to  make  any  more  confidants  until  she 
knew  that  Morrison  had  had  an  interview  with  her  guar- 
dian, and  its  result. 

"  Surely,  you  know  more  than  this,  for  I  know  you  are 
interested  in  him — if  interested  is  strong  enough,"  he 
said  earnestly.  "  Now,  my  dear  friend  Wawona,  whom 
I  have  been  hero-worshiping  as  the  beau  ideal  of  all  that 
is  cultured  and  refined,  is  not  going  to  do  anything  so 
commonplace  and  giddy  as  to  fall  a  victim  to  an  empty- 
headed  society  swell  and  flirt  ? " 

"  Why,  Frank,  how  can  you  talk  so  ?  You  have  never 
met  Mr.  Morrison,  and  know  nothing  about  him.  He  is 
not  empty-headed;  he  is  a  cultured  and  well-informed 
gentleman.  Where  did  you  gain  your  information  about 
him  ? "  asked  Miss  Brooke  earnestly,  yet  at  the  same 
time  good-naturedly. 

"  There,  there,  Miss  Wawona,"  the  boy  hastened  to 
answer,  as  he  feared  from  her  manner  that  he  had  of- 
fended her.  "  Please  forgive  me  ;  I  know  I  ought  not  to 


I  SWEAR.  57 

have  spoken  like  that.  But  from  what  they  tell  me  of 
him,  he  is  not  the  kind  of  a  man  I  have  pictured  in  my 
mind's  eye  as  the  one  in  whom  you  were  to  be  interested." 

"Now,  Frank,  to  be  honest  with  you,  and  to  repose  a 
confidence  in  consideration  of  a  discretion  far  beyond 
your  years,  and  in  reward  for  the  graceful  compliment 
you  have  just  paid  me,  I  will  say  that  I  really  do  not 
know  why  I  am  interested  in  Mr.  Morrison — for  I  admit 
I  am.  The  mere  fact  that  the  lighter  and  gayer  young 
ladies  have  not  found  him  cultured  does  not  prevent  him 
from  being  so.  It  is  the  bee,  not  the  butterfly,  that  finds 
the  honey  in  the  flowers.  And  the  man  of  the  world  has 
a  habit  of  not  unloading  his  better  and  sterner  ideas  on 
the  extreme  society  young  lady,  for  fear  she  will  think 
him  pedantic." 

She  saw  that  Frank  was  taken  by  surprise  at  her  zeal 
in  her  friend's  cause.  And  to  prevent  misunderstand- 
ing, she  continued,  after  a  moment's  hesitation  : 

"  Alone  with  me,  I  find  Mr.  Morrison  a  versatile,  well- 
balanced,  clear-thinking  young  man.  He  has  read  at  the 
Inns  of  Court,  and  so  soon  as  he  has  settled  some  landed 
affairs  of  his  family  out  West,  intends  to  return  and 
practice  law,  or  rather  act  as  counselor  in  England.  Of 
course,  like  all  society  men,  he  has  his  light  and  bright 
side — call  it  giddy  if  you  will.  This  he  exhibits  to  those 
who  appreciate  it.  For  that  matter,  Frank,  we  all  of  us 
partake  more  or  less  of  our  surroundings.  A  person  of 
one  disposition  will  bring  out  one  phase  of  our  charac- 
ter ;  one  of  a  different  sort,  another.  It  seems  as  though 
our  souls  were  made  up  of  different  tones,  and  that  the 
tones  of  others,  having  complementary  or  uncomplement- 
ary  tones,  will  fill  in  with  ours,  and  make  chords, — either 
harmonious  or  jangling, — sometimes  the  light  and  merry 
chord  of  the  minstrel's  banjo,  and  from  that  through  all 
gradations  to  the  grand,  sonorous,  and  solemn  chord  of 


58  /  SWEAR. 

the  church  organ ;  and  as  our  tones  have  made  discords 
or  harmonious  chords,  so  are  our  feelings  toward  others 
made.  Now,  I  admit  to  you  when  I  am  with  Mr.  Morri- 
son I  feel  as  if  I  had  found  harmonious  tones,  which 
unite  with  mine  and  make  harmony  a  logical  result.  We 
each  bring  out  what  is  best  in  the  other." 

She  finished  her  speech  and  sat  gazing  into  space,  day- 
dreaming. He  stood  and  watched  her,  until,  to  break  the 
silence,  he  finally  blurted  out : 

"So  at  last  you  are  really  in  love,  Wawona  ?" 

This  speech  somewhat  startled  her  by  its  abruptness. 
At  first  she  was  inclined  to  tell  Frank  of  her  half-com- 
pleted engagement,  but  immediately  dismissed  the 
thought  as  ill-advised,  and  concluded  to  wait  until  she 
had  heard  Morrison's  report  of  his  interview  with  her 
guardian,  and  replied : 

"  Perhaps  this  discussion  is  rather  premature,  Frank. 
Still,  as  it  has  been  begun,  and  as  you  are  such  a  flatter- 
ing, clever  cousin,  and  as  you  know  how  to  keep  your 
knowledge  to  yourself  as  few  men  do — traditions  about 
women's  gossiping  capabilities  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing— I  will  say  this  much  further :  I  am  not  in  love 
with  him,  according  to  the  ideas  of  the  "Duchess"  or 
"Rhoda  Broughton,"  or  any  of  the  other  modern  society 
novelists.  I  really  think  I  outgrew  that  phase  of  inter- 
est shortly  after  I  left  Wellesley,  when,  if  I  were  not 
averse  to  the  idea  of  the  existence  of  such  a  thing,  I 
should  say  I  had  a  case  of  'love  at  first  sight.'  At  that 
time  I  met  a  young  man,  a  senior  at  Harvard,  in  whom  I 
think  I  was  sufficiently  interested  to  be  really  in  love. 
But  it  only  lasted  a  few  weeks — at  least,"  she  added  with 
a  sigh,  "with  him." 

Frank  did  not  notice  the  sigh,  however,  in  his  eager- 
ness to  ask : 


/  S  WEAR.  59 

"  A  Harvard  man  ?    What  was  his  name,  Wawona  ? 
Perhaps  I  know  him." 
'  She  thought  an  instant,  and  then  said  : 

"  No,  I  really  feel  that  I  should  not  tell  you  his  name. 
The  remembrance,  probably,  would  give  him  pain,  and 
he  would  not  want  you  to  know  about  it.  While  I  can 
use  my  own  discretion  in  talking  about  my  own  affairs, 
as  long  as  they  are  wholly  my  own,  I  do  not  feel  the 
same  liberty  where  the  affairs  of  others  are  intermin- 
gled with  mine.  We  really  were  very  much  wrapped  up 
in  each  other.  We  spent  the  whole  of  two  days  together 
— such  delightful,  all-absorbing  days.  Do  you  know," 
she  said,  as  if  in  a  reverie,  "I  think  I  had  more  natural, 
physical  bliss  in  those  two  days,  while  I  thought  I  was 
wholly  and  completely  in  love,  than  I  have  had  in  all 
the  rest  of  my  life  combined." 

"  Well,  what  was  the  matter  ?  Why  did  n't  you  keep 
it  up?  He  didn't  jilt  you,  did  he,  Wawona?"  he  said 
jokingly,  but  at  the  same  time  very  anxious  to  find  out 
this  secret,  which  had  been  a  mystery  to  him  ever  since 
Fanny  had  referred  to  it. 

"  No,  and  yet  yes,"  she  answered  hesitatingly,  as  if 
deliberating  whether  to  continue  the  discussion.  "  When 
I  left  Cambridge  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  the  White 
Mountains,  and  he  said  he  was  to  remain  in  Boston  for 
a  time,  and  then  go  to  his  people  in  Minnesota.  I  re- 
ceived two  letters  from  him — one  from  Cambridge  and 
the  other  from  Hampton  Beach  ;  and  then  I  had  an  op- 
portunity to  run  down  to  Hampton  Beach  fora  few  days 
before  we  went  to  the  mountains.  I  thought  I  would 
surprise  him.  So  I  ran  down  to  see  Gallic  Baldwin,  who 
was  at  the  hotel  there. 

"  I  arrived  just  in  time  for  dinner. 

"  Something  in  the  tone  of  a  waiter,  who  was  serving 
a  lady  near  me,  attracted  my  attention.  Turning  sud- 


60  /  SWEAR. 

denly,  I  was  face  to  face  with  him  over  whom  my  young 
heart  had  been  throbbing  for  the  last  week.  Yes,  there 
he  was,  in  a  waiter's  apron.  He  turned  deadly  pale,  and 
then  scarlet,  but  showed  no  sign  of  recognition,  and 
hastened  shame  facedly  out  of  the  room. 

"  My  first  impulse  was  to  laugh,  my  next  to  cry.  Gallic 
laughed  outright,  but  I  said  not  a  word.  You  cannot 
understand  the  feeling  which  came  over  me — the  feeling 
of  sorrow  for  him.  I  knew  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  a 
man  of  the  most  delicate  feelings,  and  so  I  could  under- 
stand how  keenly  he  felt  the  disgrace, — no,  it  was  not 
disgrace, — the  bitterness  of  the  situation.  I  learned  after- 
ward that  it  was  all  on  account  of  his  pride.  It  came 
out  that  his  father  had  allowed  him  just  a  certain  amount 
per  term  for  personal  allowance,  and  one  of  his  chums 
had  been  arrested  for  some  college  prank,  and  Paul — 
there" — flushing — "I  did  not  intend  to  use  his  name — 
Paul  paid  his  bail,  and  then,  not  to  be  compelled  to  write 
to  his  father  and  explain,  went  down  to  Hampton  Beach, 
to  earn  enough  to  pay  his  fare  home." 

She  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments  until  Frank 
aroused  her  with — 

"Well?" 

"  I  wrote  two  or  three  times  afterward,  but  never  saw 
him  again  ;  and  never  thought  I  did,  until  I  met  Mr. 
Morrison.  Do  you  know,  that  really  I  fancied  it  was  he, 
when  I  first  saw  Mr.  Morrison  across  the  room.'' 

"Why  do  you  not  speak  to  Mr.  Morrison  about  it  and 
see  if  he  is  a  relative  ? "  Frank  asked,  interested  in  spite 
of  himself. 

"I  have  been  on  the  point  of  doing  so  a  thousand 
times,  but  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  approach  the 
subject,  as  I  would  be  compelled  to  disclose  so  much  of 
my  feelings.  Besides,  you  know  several  people  knew  of 
my  little  affair,  so  it  would  be  easy  for  him  to  hear  of  the 


I  SWEAR.  61 

story  and  connect  my  questions  with  the  past.  And  the 
only  way  to  be  safe  of  a  secret  is  to  keep  it  to  yourself." 

As  she  finished  she  again  dropped  off  into  a  reverie, 
following  out  this  train  of  thought  in  her  own  mind,  until 
she  finally  gave  a  slight  start,  and  turning  to  Frank, 
added  : 

"  How  many  times  a  little  hint  of  an  intimate  friend 
gives  others  an  opportunity  to  gain  possession  of  our 
dearest  secrets,  by  combining  that  hint  with  other  little 
occurrences  and  ideas  previously  gained.  How  very  often 
is  that  hint  the  keystone  to  their  arch  of  testimony, 
which  completes  the  evidence,  and  without  which  they 
have  nothing." 

"  Well-,  there  you  go  soliloquizing.  I  suppose  that  is 
your  delicate  way  of  telling  me  that  our  interview  on 
your  private  affairs  is  at  an  end,"  said  Frank. 

Then  he  added  in  a  half  playful,  half  pleading  tone  : 

"  But  really,  Wawona,  I  am  intuitively  in  love  with 
your  Harvard  Paul,  and  I  intuitively  dislike  your  Oxford 
Paul.  There  !  Did  it  ever  strike  you  what  a  strange 
coincidence,  that  you  should  think  they  looked  so  much 
alike,  and  that  they  should  both  have  the  same  first 
name  ? " 

"  It  is  strange,  is  it  not  ? "  she  answered  in  a  weary, 
absent-minded  tone,  which  let  the  boy  know  that  she 
was  ready  to  drop  the  subject. 


62  I  SWEAR. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THERE  probably  never  existed  a  young  man  more  dis- 
gusted with  himself  than  was  Paul  Morrison,  as  he  saun- 
tered home  upon  leaving  the  Northrop  mansion  after  the 
scene  with  Fanny  and  her  father. 

He  evidently  had  a  problem  on  his  mind,  for  he  was  in 
a  brown  study. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  had  better  go  back  to  my  nurse,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  called  to  mind  the  scathing  sar- 
casm of  the  banker. 

"  Here  I  am  undoing  my  best  plans,  just  as  they  prom- 
ised success — merely  because  of  a  pretty  girl  and  a  neat- 
fitting  dress,"  he  soliloquized  half  aloud. 

Suddenly  he  came  to  a  dead  halt  and  said  to  himself, 
almost  vehemently : 

"  Undoing  my  best  plans  !    Am  I  ? " 

No  one  was  there  to  answer,  and  probably  this  was  just 
as  well,  for  the  expression  on  his  face  did  not  bode  any 
good  to  an  antagonist  at  that  instant. 

"  Am  I  not  doing  something  worse  ? "  he  added,  as  he 
resumed  his  walk.  "  Am  I  not  ruining  the  peace  of  mind 
of  the  woman  I  really  love,  because  of  my  uncle's  vault- 
ing ambition  ?" 

Then,  he  said  with  a  petulant  air  : 

"  Oh,  I  must  not  think  of  this  !  " 

But  petulant  airs  and  petulant  ideas  do  not  control  a 
mind  which  has  just  had  such  a  passionate  interview 
with  such  an  interesting  girl,  for  he  finds  himself  con- 
stantly trying  to  return  to  the  subject,  and  his  will  power 
as  constantly  checking  the  tendency.  His  reason  has 
not  yet  become  disentangled  from  his  passion,  and  his 


/  SWEAR.  63 

pride  has  hardly  recovered  from  the  shock  and  chagrin 
of  his  interview  with  the  banker.  All  these  conflicting 
forces  tended  to  prevent  his  will  power  from  accomplish- 
ing its  object ;  and  so,  when  he  arrived  at  his  lodgings  he 
was  still  carrying  on  a  dialogue  with  himself,  trying  to 
assist  his  reason  to  master  his  passion  and  chagrin. 

He  unlocked  the  door  quite  absent-mindedly,  went  up 
to  his  rooms,  and  dropped  into  a  large  lounging-chair. 

After  having  sat  there,  his  legs  stretched  out  in  front 
OL  him,  and  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his  trousers  pock- 
ets, completely  lost  in  thought  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he 
aroused  himself,  went  over  to  a  handsome  writing-desk, 
which  stood  in  the  corner  of  his  elegantly  furnished 
bachelor  apartments,  and  from  a  secret  drawer  in  it  took 
out  a  photograph  of  a  hard-faced,  stern-featured  man, 
the  lines  of  whose  face  would  have  proclaimed  to  a  phys- 
iognomist that  its  owner  had  a  will  which  would  over- 
come any  obstacle,  and  a  determination  which  would  make 
even  the  fairy-tale  actions  of  "  Monte  Christo  "  a  living 
possibility. 

It  was  the  picture  of  John  Craig,  his  mother's  brother. 

Morrison  had  never  seen  his  uncle  in  person,  and  up 
to  the  time  of  his  graduation  from  Oxford  College  knew 
little  of  him,  except  the  fact  that  he  was  wealthy. 

Just  prior  to  Morrison's  sixteenth  birthday,  his  mother 
had  received  a  letter  from  this  brother,  advising  her  of 
his  whereabouts,  and  telling  her  that  he  had  amassed  a 
considerable  fortune  in  the  fur  trade  among  the  Cher- 
okee Indians  in  far-off  America,  and  that  it  was  his  de- 
sire some  day  to  have  Paul  with  him.  At  the  same  time 
he  agreed  to  furnish  her  an  annuity.  This  was  especially 
welcome,  because  of  the  fact  that  the  living  which  her 
husband  had  left  her  was  not  a  particularly  handsome 
one. 

There  was  but  one  condition  to  the  annuity, — that  she 


64  I  SWEAR. 

should  give  her  son  Paul  the  best  education  England 
could  afford,  and  should  attempt  to  make  him,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  "such  a  gentleman,  that  any  lady  of  breeding 
would  be  willing  and  proud  to  have  for  a  husband.'' 

"  Moreover,"  he  added,  "teach  him  to  hold  in  check 
his  impulses ;  make  them,  make  everything,  subordinate 
to  his  will  power.  Develop  the  control  of  will  over  all 
his  actions.  Make  it  so  predominant  that  he  would  be 
able  to  undergo  any  suffering  to  accomplish  that  which 
it  dictated  as  necessary.  Make  its  control  so  strong  that 
it  could  force  him  to  burn  off  his  own  right  hand,  if  that 
act  were  necessary  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  ends. 
And  above  all,  do  not  let  him  marry  until  you  have  first 
written  me. 

"  Advise  me  of  the  very  first  attachment  which  tends  in 
that  direction,  for  two  reasons  :  first,  because  marriage 
in  general  is  a  display  of  control  of  impulse  over  will ; 
and  second,  because  it  is  my  desire  to  inquire  into  the 
disposition  of  her  who  is  to  assist  in  forming  the  char- 
acter of  the  only  relative  in  whom  I  have  any  interest." 

After  that,  the  other  letters  his  mother  received  had 
all  been  modeled  from  the  same  formula  —  merely  ad- 
vising her  of  the  sending  of  her  draft. 

Finally,  however,  about  eight  months  before  his  grad- 
uation, the  monotony  was  broken  by  the  following  : 

"  DEAR  SISTER  : 

"  Inclosed  please  find  draft  for  the  quarter  ending  July 
1st. 

"  Let  me  know  three  months  in  advance  when  Paul  is 
to  graduate,  as  I  have  plans  for  his  future. 

Your  brother, 

"JOHN  CRAIG." 


/  SWEAR.  65 

In  compliance  with  this  request,  his  mother  had  writ- 
ten her  brother.  She  had  Paul  write  at  the  same  time, 
thanking  him,  for  his  kindness,  and  assuring  appreciation 
thereof,  and  his  willingness  to  repay  that  kindness  by 
anything  in  his  power. 

He  was  not  very  much  surprised,  therefore,  to  receive 
this  answer  : 

"  PAUL  MORRISON,  Esq., 
Oaks,  England, 

"  My  Dear  Nephew  : 

Your  letter  thanking  me  for  the 
drafts  to  your  mother  was  duly  received. 

"  The  only  portion  of  interest  to  me  was  this :  '  I 
shall  always  be  ready,  dear  uncle,  to  show  my  appre- 
ciation of  your  kindness  in  any  way  possible,  so  I  can 
prove  to  you  my  thanks  are  not  mere  words.  And  I  as- 
sure you  that  the  portion  of  the  letter  which  you  wrote 
my  mother,  when  you  advised  her  concerning  the  develop- 
ment of  my  will  power,  which  she  has  oftentimes  quoted 
to  me,  has  been  constantly  in  my  mind ;  and  I  feel  I  can 
assure  you  that  I  have  profited  by  the  advice,  and  can 
warrant  you  I  have  a  well-trained  will.' 

"I  now  write  to  say  that  I  have  use  for  that '  well-trained 
will.' 

"  In  order  that  you  may  understand  me,  I  must  explain 
something  of  my  past.  I  will  attempt  to  be  brief. 

"  Your  mother  will  tell  you  that  I  have  but  one  God,  — 
'  Success ';  that  the  accomplishment  of  an  end  would 
make  me  consider  no  exertions  in  that  behalf  as  labor. 

"  I  have  now  before  me  the  possibility  of  accomplishing 
one  of  the  greatest  triumphs  a  man  could  hope  for  in  this 
modern  day. 

"  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  marry  the  daughter  of  a 
Cherokee  chief.  By  that  marriage,  I  was  admitted 


66  T  SWEAR. 

among  the  chiefs  of  the  Nation,  and  since  that  time  the 
other  chiefs  have  died.  The  only  descendant  from  them 
now  lives  in  Boston,  and  has  a  legal  title  to  an  undivided 
portion  of  five  million  acres  of  fertile  land.  The  title  is 
in  the  chiefs,  to  be  held  by  them  in  trust  for  the  Indians. 

"There  is  but  one  flaw  to  my  title,  and  that  is  in  the 
young  lady  of  whom  I  have  just  spoken.  Her  name  is 
Wawona  Brooke. 

"  She  has  the  only  right  antagonistic  to  mine,  and  that 
right,  at  the  day  of  her  marriage,  ipso  facto,  passes  to  her 
husband. 

"  I  have  kept  myself  advised  of  her  surroundings  for  the 
past  ten  years.  She  is  a  graduate  of  Wellesley  College, 
is  inclined  to  be  literary  in  her  tastes,  is  refined  and  cul- 
tured. I  have  attempted  to  have  you  educated  so  that 
you  would  have  some  inclinations  in  common  with  her 
own. 

"Of  her  past  relations,  generally,  I  can  tell  you  all. 

"  The  only  man  in  whom  she  has  been  at  all  interested 
is  your  cousin,  Paul  Cameron,  who  is  at  present  an  in- 
structor at  Harvard  College. 

"  For  some  reason  which  I  have  been  unable  to  find  out, 
they  have  neither  seen  nor  heard  from  each  other  for  more 
than  a  year. 

"  She  is  at  present  the  ward  of  her  uncle,  Amos  Nor- 
throp, a  banker  in  Boston,  Massachusetts,  in  the  United 
States. 

"My  plans  are  these  :  I  desire  that  you  shall  go  to  Bos- 
ton, and  enter  society  there.  Join  the  Somerset  Club  and 
any  of  the  other  swell  clubs,  if  necessary.  Spare  no 
expense.  Live  but  for  one  object  —  success. 

"  Marry  Wawona  Brooke. 

"Draw  on  me  for  any  amount  necessary,  but  unless 
absolutely  necessary,  do  not  write  to  me  direct,  nor  see 


/  SWEAR.  67 

me,  until  you  can  say :  '  I    have  been  successful ;  I  am 
the  husband  of  Wawona  Brooke  ' 

"  In  closing,  I  have  two  remarks  to  make  by  way  of 
caution.  Do  not  come  in  contact  with  your  cousin  Paul 
Cameron,  or  let  it  be  known  that  you  are  his  cousin  ;  and 
do  not  let  it  be  known  to  any  one,  especially  Miss  Brooke, 
that  you  are  related  to  me. 

"  Let  it  be  understood  that  your  money  comes  from 
your  father's  estate,  and  obtain  your  money  through 
your  mother  ;  advising  me,  through  her,  if  you  need  an 
increased  allowance. 

"And  remember,  I  now  live  but  for  one  object,  and 
that,  to  have  you  the  husband  of  Wawona  Brooke. 

"  Woe  be  to  him  who  stands  between  me  and  that  ob~ 
ject! 

"  I  await  your  successful  report. 

"  Your  uncle, 

"JOHN  CRAIG." 

Morrison  stood  and  looked  steadfastly  at  the  picture  he 
held  in  his  hand.  It  seemed  as  if  he  was  trying  to  read 
what  sort  of  a  vengeance  its  original  would  work  out, 
should  his  dearest  scheme  be  thwarted. 

The  contents  of  this  letter  came  back  and  impressed 
him  with  all  the  force  they  had  when  first  received. 

With  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  as  if  the  ideas  were  un- 
pleasant, he  put  away  all  thoughts  of  his  harsh  uncle,  and 
for  a  substitute  permitted  his  mind  to  wander  back  to  his 
own  career  from  the  time  he  left  Oxford. 

When  he  arrived  in  Boston,  and  found  Miss  Brooke  to 
be  a  highly  cultivated  and  cultured  girl,  with  a  pleasant 
person  and  charming  address,  he  assured  himself  that 
his  uncle  had  set  him  a  comparatively  easy  task, — espe- 
cially as  he  found  himself  making  rapid  headway  with  his 
suit  from  the  very  outset. 


68  r  SWEAR. 

He  himself  could  hardly  understand  his  success.  The 
way  seemed  prepared  for  him,  and  she  seemed  to  be  at- 
tracted to  him  at  once. 

They  readily  fell  into  a  familiar  acquaintanceship. 
This  too  without  any  of  the  little  preparatory  sorties  with 
which  love  affairs  are  supposed  to  be  prefaced.  Indeed, 
he  seemed  to  become  the  accepted  one  as  if  by  force  of 
circumstances  and  by  natural  right. 

Although  he  appreciated  the  absence  of  spontaneity 
in  himself  and  his  own  actions,  yet  he  felt  that  he  might 
have  with  her  a  union  of  much  interest  from  a  mental 
standpoint,  for  their  reading  had  been  in  the  same  lines, 
and  they  had  many  interests  in  common. 

Moreover  he  was  so  confident  his  will  power  had  su- 
preme control  over  his  impulses,  that  he  felt  assured  he 
would  be  able  to  enjoy  with  her  a  moderately  happy 
married  life,  if  not  considerable  more ;  because,  in  a  neg- 
ative way,  he  must  have  happiness,  as  that  self-same  will 
would  crush  in  its  incipiency  any  tendency  toward  an 
attachment  which  would  cause  regret. 

But  as  his  thoughts  approached  the  latest  developments 
in  the  situation,  he  realized  that  he  appreciated  to  a  great 
degree,  more  than  he  really  cared  to  admit  even  to  him- 
self, the  originality,  piquancy,  and  charming  naivete  of 
the  bright  and  clever  girl  who  had  unwittingly  diverted 
him  from  his  fixed  course.  He  felt  that  in  his  implicit 
confidence  in  that  will  power,  and  the  certainty  of  its 
preventing  him  from  having  any  true  feelings,  he  had 
recklessly  permitted  his  passions  to  open  the  portals  of 
his  heart  wide  enough  for  her  personality  to  make  a  great 
impression  there. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  though  trying  to  turn 
off  the  thought,  and  said  aloud  : 

"  I  really  believe  I  have  the  blues,  and  that,  too,  over  a 
girl." 


/  SWEAR.  69 

But  the  thought  was  not  to  be  removed  by  a  shrug. 
He  saw  that  he  was  at  a  turning-point  in  his  life, —  that 
he  must  decide  at  once  whether  he  should  follow  out  his 
uncle's  plans  and  consummate  the  engagement  with  Miss 
Brooke,  and  by  so  doing  crush  out  of  his  own  life  every 
possibility  for  true,  spontaneous  feeling,  or  whether  he 
should  retire  from  the  course  upon  which  he  had  just 
commenced,  and  break  his  engagement,  if  it  may  be  so 
called. 

He  felt  assured  that  if  he  should  by  such  an  act  remove 
the  pressure  of  his  will  power  from  the  flood-gates  of  his 
true  feelings,  a  faint  stream  of  which  he  realizes  has  for 
the  first  time  escaped  from  its  controlling  pressure, 
those  feelings  would  burst  forth  with  an  impetus  which 
would  make  his  love  for  Fanny  Northrop  the  complete, 
absorbing  destiny  of  his  life.  For  he  has  at  last  begun 
to  understand,  that  besides  his  appreciation  of  her  ex- 
ceeding comeliness,  the  piquancy  and  originality  of  her 
conversation,  the  keenness  and  brilliancy  of  her  repartee, 
there  is  a  similarity  in  their  mental  methods,  in  the  ani- 
mus of  their  actions,  and  in  their  tastes  and  aims, — a  sim- 
ilar self-confidence,  a  reckless  absence  of  veneration  for 
established  methods  of  action, — which  will  always  make 
them  agreeable  companions,  and  he  now  feels  lovers, 
whose  affection  will  outlast  the  passionate  fusillade  of  a 
honeymoon. 

He  has  about  determined  to  let  the  flood-gates  open, 
when  another  woman  comes  into  his  thoughts — the  God- 
dess of  Liberty  on  the  American  Eagle. 

He  sees  that,  to  withdraw  from  his  engagement,  he 
must  increase  the  disgust  and  dislike  of  Amos  Northrop, 
and  must  at  the  same  time  bring  down  upon  himself 
heaven  only  knows  what  vials  of  wrath  of  his  uncle,  and, 
a  most  unfortunate  corollary  result,  the  forfeiture  of  all 
present  income. 


70  I  SWEAR 

He  is  too  much  a  man  of  the  world  to  think  of  taking 
upon  himself  an  establishment  such  as  a  marriage  with 
Fanny  Northrop  would  necessitate  without  an  income  ; 
so  her  ladyship  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  brings  the  influ- 
ence of  passion  to  a  sudden  stop,  and  the  flood-gates  are 
closed  firmer  than  ever. 

His  troubled  reverie  caused  him  to  pace  up  and  down 
the  floor. 

Finally  he  halted,  and  asked  himself  half  aloud  : 

"  Give  up  an  assured  position  to  obtain — what  ? " 

Again  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  A  story-book  sort  of  bliss  which  we  conceive  to  fol- 
low a  marriage  for  love,  because  of  descriptions  of  it  in 
love  tales,  written  nine  times  out  of  ten  by  people  who 
have  never  known  what  real  love  is." 

Then  the  scale  seemed  to  turn  in  the  other  direction, 
for  he  thinks : 

"But  surely  I  have  had  experience  enough  to  know 
when  I  am  in  love.  If  I  did  not  feel  positive  that  the 
tendencies  of  our  minds  are  so  similiar,  and  that  we  should 
undoubtedly  have  the  same  feelings  toward  each  other 
five  years  from  now,  I  could  throw  the  matter  off  as 
easily  as  I  throw  away  that  cuff,"  he  said,  as  he  jerked 
off  that  innocent  and  inoffensive  appendage. 

"But  the  truth  of  the  matter  is,  we  are  both  cranks, 
and  cranks  in  the  same  line,  and  I  never  expected  to  see 
another  crank  of  my  kind.  And  so,  if  she  goes  out  of 
my  life,  I  feel  as  though  she  who  was  ordained  by  God 
for  me  has  been  taken  from  me  by  an  unkind  fate.  Or," 
he  said  as  he  halted  again,  "  is  it  because  of  my  coward- 
ice?" 

This  stopped  the  soliloquy  again,  and  he  recommenced 
the  pacing. 

"No,''  he  said  firmly,  "this  possibility  of  enjoying  an 
unknown  quantity  of  bliss  is  not  sufficient  recompense 


I  SWEAR.  71 

for  bringing  down  on  my  head  Uncle  John's  wrath,  and 
the  interminable  explanations  necessary  to  withdraw 
from  my  engagement. 

"  Love  in  a  cottage  is  all  very  well,  but  it  has  too  many 
drawbacks  for  a  practical  man." 

He  dropped  into  a  chair,  deeply  despondent,  now  that 
he  realized  that  all  hope  for  anything  but  the  life  laid 
down  by  his  cultivated  will  had  passed  forever.  He  bade 
good-by  to  his  true,  spontaneous  self  with  a  deep  sigh, 
and  returned  to  the  struggle  with  the  thought  of  an  in- 
terview with  Uncle  Northrop,  as  the  banker  had  become 
to  him,  now  that  his  position  as  father  had  been  forced 
to  fade  into  insignificance. 

Ringing  for  his  valet,  he  donned  his  dressing-coat  and 
dropped  into  a  lounging-chair  for  a  restful  smoke  before 
going  to  bed. 

Having  made  up  his  mind  to  keep  his  impulses  under 
control,  he  enjoyed  the  negative  bliss  of  absence  of  care 
and  worry  attendant  upon  the  future. 

He  felt  assured  that  if  he  put  on  a  bold  front  and  asked 
for  Miss  Brooke's  hand  at  once,  he  would  be  successful. 
His  goal  was  set,  and  to  reach  that  goal  it  was  only 
necessary  to  carefully  pursue  the  path  marked  out  for 
him  by  fate. 


72  I  SWEAR. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHILE  dressing  on  the  next  morning,  Morrison  found 
his  thoughts  constantly  returning  to  the  scene  in  the 
"den  "  off  the  Northrop  parlor,  and  h°s  will  constantly 
checking  the  tendency ;  for  he  realized  full  well  how 
near  the  brink  he  stood. 

After  breakfast,  Johnson,  his  valet,  brought  him  his 
papers  and  mail  — the  usual  assortment,  two  or  three  ad- 
vertisements from  tailors,  a  note  inviting  him  to  a  little 
party,  and  a  few  personal  letters,  among  which  was  that 
from  Fanny  Northrop. 

He  disliked  to  admit  to  himself  that  his  pulse  beat 
higher  as  he  recognized  her  handwriting. 

He  read  the  letter,  examined  the  photograph  carefully, 
and  then  turned  it  over  to  see  if  she  had  written  any- 
thing on  the  back  —  all  in  vain. 

After  that  he  read  the  letter  again,  and  gave  a  lack- 
luster, far-away  smile,  as  he  came  to  the  paraphrased  quo- 
tation from  Will  Carleton. 

The  letter  was  evidently  a  study  to  him. 

He  read  portions  of  it  over  and  over  again. 

Finally  he  said  : 

"What  does  she  mean  by  'This  might  become  a  con- 
firmed habit '?  Docs  she  know  of  my  proposal,  or  does 
she  intend  to  corner  me  again  with  a  *  No  pop,  no  kiss ' 
proposition  ?  Or  is  she  trying  to  give  me  the  impres- 
sion that  she  has  jilted  me  ?" 

This  gave  him  a  twinge  of  conscience.  He  tried  to 
shake  off  the  thought. 

"  I  must  stop  thinking  of  her,  or  I  shall  have  the  blues 
again.  Well,  there  is  just  this  much  about  it :  I  cannot 


I  SWEAR.  73 

fall  in  love  with  her,  because  I  shall  not  have  a  penny  if  I 
do.  Let  her  think  what  she  will  of  me,  it  must  be  done. 
But  how  am  I  to  meet  her  father  ?  That  is  the  present 
problem." 

He  found  himself  wishing  that  she  was  right,  when  she 
said  that  her  father  would  not  again  refer  to  the  inter- 
view of  the  night  before. 

He  disliked  to  face  the  banker,  but  was  fearful  that 
unless  he  did  so  at  once  he  would  be  unable  to  act  out 
the  lie  about  dancing,  and  also  that  a  delay  might  be 
misconstrued  by  Miss  Brooke. 

He  decided  to  carry  out  his  resolution  of  the  night  be- 
fore. He  hurriedly  ran  over  a  letter  from  his  mother, 
and  one  from  a  friend  in  England,  and  then  dressed  him- 
self carefully  in  preparation  for  his  call  on  Amos  Nor- 
throp at  the  bank.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  call  there, 
because  he  was  afraid  that  if  he  went  to  the  house  he 
might  be  upset  by  another  interview  with  Fanny. 

After  dressing,  he  found  his  temerity  trying  to  con- 
vince his  will  that  his  intention  about  seeking  an 
interview  was  rather  hasty,  and  finally  compromised  by 
determining  to  wait  until  after  banking  hours  before 
attempting  it. 

As  he  went  up  the  bank  steps  he  caught  himself  in- 
wardly hoping  that  Mr.  Northrop  had  been  called  out 
of  town,  or  had  gone  home,  or  in  fact  had  done  anything 
which  would  take  him  out  of  the  possibility  of  being 
reached. 

No  such  luck,  however — the  banker  was  in  his  office. 

Mr.  Northrop  noticed  him  as  he  came  in  the  door,  rose 
and  shook  his  offered  hand  in  a  perfunctory  way,  and 
then  said : 

"  Excuse  me  one  moment,  until  I  finish  dictating  this 
letter." 


74  /  SWEAR. 

"  Do  not  let  me  disturb  you,  Mr.  Northrop,"  said  Mor- 
rison. 

"  Please  be  seated,"  answered  the  banker,  "  I  shall  be 
at  leisure  in  a  minute." 

Morrison  took  the  proffered  seat,  and  then  let  his  eyes 
wander  around  the  office. 

Everything  betokened  a  man  of  method  ;  each  article 
was  evidently  in  its  place,  and  seemed  to  have  an  air 
about  it  which  distinctly  said  that  it  was  to  be  returned 
to  its  place  atter  use. 

As  the  correspondent  left  the  room  the  banker  turned 
to  Morrison,  with  the  nearest  approach  to  a  smile  he  had 
ever  noticed  on  that  stolid  face. 

"  Now  I  am  at  your  service,"  he  said. 

"  I  called  for  two  purposes,  Mr.  Northrop,"  Morrison 
began,  finding  himself  somewhat  nervous,  in  spite  of 
his  determination  to  keep  cool.  "  First,  to  explain  my 
truly  absurd  position  of  last  night,  and  then  to  ask  a 
favor  of  the  greatest  moment  to  myself  and  your  ward, 
Miss  Brooke." 

He  noticed  a  slight  involuntary  closing  of  the  jaws  of 
the  smoothly  shaven  banker,  as  he  said  this,  and  in  order 
not  to  be  interrupted,  hastened  to  add  : 

"  Last  Saturday  morning  I  obtained  the  permission  of 
Miss  Brooke  to  ask  your  consent  to  our  marriage,  and 
I  called  at  your  house  last  night  to  do  so.  I  found  no 
one  there  but  your  daughter,  and  while  we  were  amusing 
ourselves  with  a  dance,"  he  bravely  continued,  notwith- 
standing a  scowl  began  to  darken  the  banker's  face, 
"wrong  as  it  was — we  were  interrupted  by  your  appear- 
ance. That  was  what  I  meant  last  night,  when  I  said 
you  misunderstood  the  situation.  I  want  to  be  frank 
with  you,  Mr.  Northrop.  Under  the  circumstances  I,  of 
course  realize  that  my  actions  were  very  improper,  and 
I  hope  this  will  pass  for  an  apology." 


7  SWEAR.  75 

He  stopped,  waiting  for  an  answer. 

Mr.  Northrop  was  evidently  digesting  what  he  had 
said,  and  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  what  to  answer. 

The  silence  increased  Morrison's  nervousness.  He 
must  do  something,  so  he  added  : 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  something  about  myself.  I 
am  the  only  child  of  my  father,  Roderick  Morrison,  who 
was  the  fourth  son  of  Sir  Robert  Morrison,  of  Glen  El- 
len, Scotland.  I  have  an  income  of  some  fifteen  hundred 
pounds  a  year.  I  have  been  educated  at  Oxford,  and  in- 
tend to  become  a  counselor  at  law.  My  American  friends 
are  those  whom  I  have  met  in  the  last  eight  months,  and 
you  know  as  much  of  me  as  they  do  ;  hence  I  will  say 
nothing  about  references  to  them,  but  I  can  give  you 
any  English  references  you  desire." 

The  banker  continued  to  look  him  straight  in  the  eye, 
without  moving  a  muscle.  He  had  altered  his  expression 
but  once  thus  far  during  the  interview,  and  that  was  when 
the  almost  involuntary  scowl  came  across  his  face  at  the 
mention  of  the  scene  of  the  night  before. 

He  continued  for  some  time  to  finger  his  pencil.  He 
turned  it  over  and  over  again  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and 
appeared  to  be  formulating  his  answer.' 

Finally  he  said  in  a  measured  way,  which  showed  that 
his  words  had  been  the  subject  of  much  thought : 

"  Mr.  Morrison,  I  have  been  more  or  less  interested  in 
you  for  the  last  six  months,  because  you  were  a  friend  of 
my  charges.  I  am  familiar  with  your  financial  standing, 
and  that  is  satisfactory." 

He  then  stopped,  and  for  a  second  lowered  his  gaze, 
evidently  having  changed  his  mind  about  the  next  sen- 
tence. But  after  a  moment's  hesitation  he  again  looked 
up,  and  said  : 

"You  say  you  have  been  frank  with  me  ;  I  intend  to 
be  really  frank  with  you.  You,  yourself,  are  not  satisfac- 


76  I  SWEAR. 

tory.  I  do  not  believe  that  any  young  man  who  has  had 
opportunities  for  an  open,  honorable,  worthy  career,  with 
possibilities  of  doing  much  good  for  his  country  and  him- 
self, can  have  the  correct  principles  in  life,  such  as  would 
make  a  properly  reared  American  girl  a  true  husband,  if 
he  has  been  contented  to  lead  the  life  of  a  society  flirt." 

Again  he  paused,  and  again  continued  :  "  Moreover,  I 
cannot  understand  your  actions  with  my  daughter.  I 
tell  you  frankly,  I  have  not  said  one  word  to  her,  nor  do  I 
intend  to  do  so ;  but  I  am  certain  you  have  not  been 
ingenuous  with  her,  nor  with  me  concerning  her." 

Morrison  would  have  interrupted  him  with  protesta- 
tions of  the  truth  of  his  explanations,  which  the  banker, 
by  innuendo,  seemed  to  doubt,  but  a  certain  expression 
in  the  eye  of  Mr.  Northrop  deterred  him. 

"For  these  reasons  I  was  impelled  by  first  impulses  to 
refuse  you  my  consent,  but  I  have  determined  not  to  do 
so.  I  am  going  to  give  my  consent  under  certain  condi- 
tions, and  I  shall  now  explain  these  conditions  to  you. 

"As  you  know,  my  niece  is  the  daughter  of  a  full- 
blooded  Cherokee  Indian.  Her  father  was  a  man  of 
great  strength  of  character,  and  one  whose  constancy  to 
purpose  could  not  be  shaken.  The  daughter  has  man- 
ifested many  of  his  physical  traits.  Her  life  hitherto 
has  been  such  that  she  has  never  had  any  tendency  to 
bring  into  play  her  inherited  Indian  instincts. 

"I  have  never  been  compelled  to  thwart  her  in  any 
desire,  and  I  do  not  care  to  do  so  now.  The  fact  that 
she  has  permitted  you  to  ask  for  her  hand  is  sufficient 
evidence  that  she  thinks  she  loves  you.  If  I  were  cer- 
tain that  she  did,  and  that  you  loved  her  as  you  should, 
I  would  give  my  consent  unconditionally.  It  is  my  im- 
pression that  her  feelings  are  but  a  temporary  fancy. 
Still,  I  fear  that  her  inherited  traits  would  cause  her  to 


I  SWEAR.  77 

disregard  my  refusal,  and  this  we  should  all  regret  here- 
after ;  so  I  am  going  to  give  my  conditional  consent. 

"  By  the  terms  of  her  mother's  will,  my  guardianship 
ceases  when  she  has  reached  her  twenty-fourth  year, 
which  will  be  three  years  from  this  time.  If  you  are 
willing  to  absent  yourself  from  her  for  that  time,  so  that 
your  love  for  each  other  may  be  tested  by  a  three  years' 
separation,  and  if  at  the  end  of  that  time  you  are  still 
betrothed,  I  will,  on  the  very  day  my  guardianship  ceases, 
give  you  my  consent,  and  the  handsomest  wedding 
Boston  can  afford,  and  will  settle  on  Wawona  an  annuity 
of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  a  year." 

The  expression  on  Morrison's  face  during  this  long 
statement  was  a  study :  in  it  were  intermingled  chagrin, 
disappointment,  and  anger.  He  first  reddened,  and  then 
alternately  whitened  and  reddened,  then  swallowed  three 
or  four  times  as  if  preparing  to  interrupt ;  but  finally, 
when  the  proposition  was  fully  made,  he  hesitated. 

Without  changing  a  muscle  of  his  face,  the  banker 
asked  : 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  give  your  answer  now  ? " 

"  I  would  prefer  to  consult  with  Miss  Brooke  before 
doing  so." 

"Very  well.  Will  you  be  able  to  give  me  an  answer 
by  Monday  next  ? "  asked  the  banker,  not  at  all  softening 
in  his  tone. 

"  I  think  that  will  be  time  enough,"  Morrison  answered. 

"To  be  sure  that  we  understand  each  other,  I  will  say 
this  :  I  do  not  act  until  I  have  fully  made  up  my  mind 
as  to  the  course  to  pursue.  If  you  accept  this  agree- 
ment, and  perform  your  part,  I  shall  carry  out  mine  to  the 
letter.  You,  of  course,  must  know  from  what  I  have 
said  that  I  do  not  want  my  niece  to  marry  you." 

"  You  have  certainly  been  frank  with  me,  Mr.  Nor- 
throp, and  I  can  assure  you  that,  if  I  accept  your  terms, 


78  /  SWEAR. 

I  shall  live  up  to  the  agreement,  strictly.    Good  after- 
noon." 

Morrison  made  up  his  mind  that  the  best  thing  for 
him  to  do  was  to  have  an  interview  with  Miss  Brooke 
at  once,  so  he  hailed  a  coupe  and  was  driven  out  to  the 
residence. 

During  that  drive  he  was  trying  to  devise  what  he 
should  say  and  do  in  case  he  met  Fanny  Northrop.  He 
found  the  problem  an  insoluble  one  for  the  moment. 

He  might  have  saved  himself  the  trouble  had  he  known 
that  she, 'being  equally  fearful  of  a  meeting  with  him, 
had  gone  to  Dover,  to  spend  a  few  days  with  a  friend 
whom  she  had  been  promising  to  visit  for  some  time. 

Morrison's  interview  with  Miss  Brooke  was  brief  and 
matter  of  fact  for  a  scene  between  lovers.  They  finally 
agreed  to  accept  the  terms,  and  arranged  to  correspond 
once  a  week  during  the  long  separation.  He  evinced 
more  warmth  toward  her  than  he  ever  had  in  the  past, 
and  kissed  her,  and  indulged  in  other  little  passionate 
pleasantries  common  to  affianced  couples 

She  felt  at  the  time  that  there  was  an  absence  of  the 
fervor  of  the  kiss  which  she  had  received  on  the  train  at 
Springfield. 

He  knew  that  his  own  feelings  were  different  from 
those  he  had  had  in  the  "  den  "  on  the  Sunday  night  be- 
fore. 

Morrison,  after  his  return  to  his  rooms,  studied  for  a 
long  time,  to  determine  how  to  answer  Fanny  Nor- 
throp's  letter.  He  felt  that  she  would  always  misunder 
stand  him,  and  was  anxious  to  evolve  some  method  of 
explaining  his  position,  without  compromising  himself 
with  respect  to  Miss  Brooke.  He  found  it  a  difficult  task. 

Finally,  having  given  up  all  hope  of  seeing  her,  he  de- 
termined to  write,  and  state  the  facts  in  as  plain  Ian- 


/  SWEAR.  79 

guage  as  he  could,  leaving  fate  to  work  out  the  situation 
for  him. 

After  deep  consideration,  he  wrote  the  following  let- 
ter : 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  NORTHROP  : 

"  The  note  inclosing  your  photograph  was  as  clever  as 
the  original  is  beautiful.  I  shall  keep  both,  in  remem- 
brance of  some  of  the  happiest  hours  of  my  life.  That 
our  paths  from  this  time  on  diverge  does  not  rob  me  of 
the  satisfaction  of  having  known  one  of  the  cleverest  and 
brightest  artists  at  repartee. 

"The  necessity  of  your  flag  of  truce  has  been  removed, 
for  I  am  engaged  to  your  cousin  Miss  Brooke,  of  which 
until  now  I  have  not  been  free  to  speak  ;  and  owing  to 
the  relentless  mandate  of  your  father,  who  accepts  me 
only  on  probation  as  the  fiancee  of  your  all  too  charming 
cousin,  Miss  B.,  I  am  to  absent  myself  from  Wawonaand 
Boston  for  three  years.  So,  as  I  sail  for  Europe  at  an 
early  date,  your  trip  to  Dover  forces  me  to  convey  by 
pen,  instead  of  by  word  of  mouth,  my  regret  at  what  has 
been  and  what  can  never  be  again.  We  oftentimes,  at 
impulsive  moments,  permit  ourselves  to  do  things  which 
we  cannot  afterward  explain  even  to  ourselves  ;  still,  I 
hope  you  are  a  friend  on  whom  I  can  rely.  Forget  all. 
"  Your  true  friend  now  and  always, 
"  PAUL  MORRISON 

"BOSTON,  May  27,  18— ." 

"  Regret  at  what  has  been  and  can  never  be  again  — 
Forget  all ! " — exclaimed  Fanny,  as  she  read  and  re-read 
the  closing  lines. 

"  So  he  does  think  I  am  dying  of  a  broken  heart.  Well, 
I  must  fool  him." 

Forthwith  she  reached  for  her  writing  paper,  but  the 


8o  /  SWEAR. 

jaunty  tone  of  her  resolution  faded  as  her  feelings  brought 
her  to  soliloquizing : 

"  I  suppose  I  must  admit  that  I  never  met  any  one  else 
in  the  world  who  seemed  to  look  at  life  through  the  same 
spectacles  that  I  do ;  who  has  the  same  interests,  the 
same  whims,  and  the  same  tendencies  as  I,  but,  never- 
theless, that  is  all  over ;  I  am  to  be  the  '  true  friend,' 
now  and  always." 

Then  she  took  up  the  letter,  and  read  it  again. 

"  So  he  can  '  rely '  upon  me,  can  he  ?  That  sounds  as 
though  he  was  afraid  he  could  not,  and  was  too  much 
of  a  coward  to  ask  me  to  keep  my  own  counsel.  If  he 
had  only  remembered  that  '  self-preservation  is  the  first 
law  of  nature,'  he  might  have  saved  himself  the  trouble." 

This  thought  did  not  cheer  her  spirits,  however,  and 
she  soon  found  a  tear  trickling  down  her  cheek.  She 
dashed  it  off  with  a  petulant  air,  as  if  disgusted  with  her- 
self, and  said  as  she  turned  to  the  writing-desk : 

"  Well,  I  suppose  every  dog  has  his  day,  and  at  last  I 
have  found  mine.  This  is  my  Waterloo  at  flirtations. 
The  only  thing  I  can  do  is  to  keep  the  matter  to  myself, 
and  try  another  letter  to  see  if  I  cannot  prevent  him  from 
being  assured  of  the  truth  of  his  impressions." 

After  a  little  more  study  of  his  letter,  she  determined 
to  follow  his  formula  for  opening  and  closing,  and  wrote 
the  following  : 

* 

"  MY  DEAR  MR.  MORRISON  : 

"  I  was  about  to  commence  my  letter  with  that  old 
chestnut,  'Your  very  welcome  letter  has  just  been  re- 
ceived, etc.'  when  I  bethought  myself  that  would  not  be 
exactly  the  truth,  because  of  the  one  sentence,  '  Forget 
all ! ' 

"  This  was  unwelcome,  because  it  does  not  sound  at  all 
natural — it  seemed  too  melodramatic  for  you.  Besides,  I 


/  SWEAR.  8 1 

always  like  to  do  what  my  friends  request  of  me,  and  I  do 
not  want  to  forget  anything  of  the  charming  six  months 
I  have  passed,  while  you  were  attempting  to  keep  from 
telling  me  a  fact  which  I  was  trying  to  force  you  to 
confess  all  the  time. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Morrison,  you  gave  me  one  of  the  most 
interesting  problems  in  psychological  philosophy  I  have 
had  in  society  for  a  long  while ;  for  I  assure  you  I  never 
before  tried  so  many  social  experiments  in  such  a  short 
space  of  time.  And  I  am  certain  I  never  developed  a 
livelier  interest  in  any  problem.  The  only  part  of  the 
problem  which  remains  unsolved  is,  Why  did  you  not 
succumb  to  my  experiments  at  once  ?  Was  it  because 
you  did  not  think  me  capable  of  seeing  the  fact  as  it 
existed,  or  was  it  because  you  did  not  have  confidence 
enough  in  my  friendship  to  be  sure  that  the  confession 
would  not  change  it  ? 

"  But  enough  of  this.  I  trust  you  will  remand  that 
objectionable  'Forget  all!'  sufficiently  to  allow  me  to 
retain  in  memory  all  our  experiences  save  those  last 
mentioned. 

"  I  was  about  to  say  that  I  congratulate  Wawona  on 
her  good  fortune  in  capturing  the  most  interesting  gen- 
tleman friend  I  ever  knew,  when  I  happened  to  notice 
the  way  in  which  you  relegate  her  to  the  neuter  gender ; 
for  you  say,  '  I  am  engaged  to  your  cousin  Miss  Brooke, 
of  which,  until  now,  I  have  not  been  free  to  speak  '- 
under  those  circumstances,  I  do  not  know  but  that  I  will 
'advise  her  to  be  certain  that  your  love  is  purely  disinter- 
ested and  reliable. 

"  So  much  for  nonsense.  And,  joking  aside,  I  hope 
your  lives,  when  commenced  three  years  from  now,  may 
be  as  fruitful  in  pleasure  as  your  brilliant  prospects  at 
present  give  promise,  and  that  you  both  may  have  all  the 


82  /  SWEAR. 

happiness  expected  by  your  friends,  and  also  that  I  shall 
always  be  a  close  friend  to  both. 

"  It  looks  now  as  though  my  visit  here  would  prevent 
my  seeing  you  before  your  departure  for  Europe  ;  but 
whether  I  do  or  not,  remember  that,  as  the  boys  say  in 
California,  '  I  never  went  back  on  a  friend,'  and  also  that 
I  can  be  relied  upon. 

"  Your  true  friend,  now  and  always, 

"FANNY  NORTHROP." 

"  DOVER,  June  2,  18— ." 

After  she  had  finished  the  letter  and  was  ready  to 
direct  it,  the  thought  struck  her  that  she  did  not  know 
his  present  address.  She  wavered  a  moment,  consider- 
ing whether  or  not  to  destroy  the  letter,  and  then  made 
up  her  mind  to  send  it  to  his  club. 

Had  she  followed  the  impulse  to  destroy  the  letter,  her 
after-life  would  have  been  different  from  that  which  fate 
had  decreed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FANNY  NORTHROP  remained  at  Dover  until  she  felt 
she  could  return  and  face  her  friends — Frank  Jender  and 
the  rest  of  the  world — without  flinching  whenever  there 
was  a  reference  made  to  Morrison. 

She  had  had  enough  opportunity  for  reflection  to  rea- 
son out  the  exact  status  of  her  feelings  toward  this 
enigma,  as  he  was  to  her,  and  had  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that,  with  his  loss,  had  passed  away  all  possibilities 
for  une  grande  passione  in  her  life.  She  might  hereafter 
have  affection  for  a  man,  but  any  possibility  of  being 
completely  and  wholly  given  up  to  one  man's  love  had 
passed,  when  that  peculiar  friendship  had  its  end. 


/  SWEAR.  83 

Frank  Jender,  she  knew,  was  the   only  one  in  the 
Northrop  household  who  suspected  the  true  nature  of,; 
her  feelings,  and  she  inwardly  dreaded  an  explanation ' 
with  him. 

She  had  hoped  that  this  interview  might  be  averted  un 
til  she  had  been  home  a  week  or  two,  and  had  recovered 
her  old  spirits.  But  fate  was  not  with  her ;  for  the  next 
day  after  her  return,  some  three  weeks  after  Morrison's 
departure  for  England,  she  walked  into  the  library  and 
found  Frank  sitting  there.  She  made  a  brave  effort  not 
to  lose  her  composure,  and  said  in  her  usual,  off-hand 
way : 

"Hello,  Frank,  all  alone?" 

"  Yes.  Wawona  had  to  go  upstairs  to  write  a  letter  to 
his  royal  highness  over  the  sea.  I  was  left  here  to 
amuse  myself,  and  you  appear  on  the  scene  like  an  angel 
of  mercy,  to  save  me  from  the  fate  of  getting  interested 
in  myself." 

He  took  hold  of  her  hand,  and  turning  her  around,  so 
as  to  look  her  full  in  the  face  said  : 

"  What's  the  matter?    You  do  not  look  well." 

She  released  her  hand,  and  then  fluttered  around  the 
room,  moving  a  vase  here  and  arranging  a  seat  there.  At 
the  same  time,  she  tried  to  collect  her  thoughts,  and  hit 
upon  some  subject  to  divert  the  conversation. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  possibly  I  took  too  much  exercise 
when  I  was  up  country." 

"  I  may  be  mistaken  ;  I  have  not  seen  you  for  so  long 
a  time.  Let  me  see  —  I  have  not  had  a  chance  to  chat 
with  you  since  that  day  you  informed  me  I  was  a  cat- 
fish. What  a  world  of  things  have  happened  since  then ! 

"  And  your  black  bass  has  wriggled  off  the  hook,  has 
he,  Fanny  ?  "  he  said,  apparently  jokmg,  but  in  reality  by 
way  of  experiment,  for  he  made  up  his  mind  that  some- 


84  /  SWEAR. 

thing  had  gone  wrong,  and  that  he  was  the  man  to  right 
it. 

He  had  intended  to  make  an  impression,  but  hardly 
one  so  striking  as  he  did  ;  for  happening  to  look  up  at 
the  large  mirror  over  the  mantel-piece,  he  caught  an  ex- 
pression of  pain  and  sorrow  on  the  reflected  image  of 
Fanny's  face  as  she  stood  behind  him,  unguarded,  as  she 
thought  herself  unobserved.  There  was  a  revelation  of 
so  much  feeling  in  it  that  he  would  have  given  anything 
to  have  had  his  words  unspoken. 

Fanny  deliberately  came  around  in  front  of  his  chair 
drew  up  another  close  to  him,  took  his  hand,  and  with 
a  voice  so  earnest  as  to  almost  frighten  him,  said : 

"  Frank,  we  are  friends,  and  we  both  love  Wawona,  so 
I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you  on  that  subject  now,  and 
then  let  it  drop  forever ;  because,  if  you  keep  teasing  me, 
sooner  or  later  Wawona  will  know  of  it,  and  it  may  be  a 
cloud  over  her  happiness." 

Then  she  arranged  herself  for  a  long  confidential  talk. 

"  You  are  the  only  one  who  knows  the  extent  of  his 
flirtation  with  me,"  she  said,  boldly  plunging  into  the 
subject.  "If  I  was  flirting  with  him,  you  know  he  got 
the  better  of  it,  and,  of  course,  must  know  that  I  do  not 
care  to  discuss  my  defeat.  If  I  am  in  love  with  him,  it 
is  a  hopeless  love,  and  therefore  must  be  so  deep  as  to  be 
one  of  my  sacred  memories  —  so  sacred,  that  to  discuss 
it,  to  make  it  even  in  the  least  degree  the  property, 
of  any  one  save  the  subject  of  that  love,  would  be  a  des- 
ecration. In  either  case,  therefore,  it  would  be  best  and 
kindest  to  let  the  discussion  of  the  '  black  bass '  and  his 
influence  drop  forever,  both  because  it  would  occasion 
me  sorrow  now,  and  because  there  would  be  a  possibility 
of  its  occasioning  Wawona  sorrow  hereafter.  Now, 
promise  me  you  will  be  a  dear,  kind  cousin  and  do  as  I 
ask." 


/  SWEAR.  85 

He  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  sat  and  looked  stead- 
fastly at  her,  still  holding  her  hand. 

He  understood  that  she  had  suffered,  and  tried  to  think 
of  some  way  which  would  reassure  her  sufficiently  to 
make  her  feel  that  he  did  not  understand  her  as  well  as 
he  knew  she  thought  he  did.  However,  fearful  that  she 
might  misconstrue  his  silence,  he  answered  : 

"  I  promise  never  to  refer  to  him  again.  But,  Fanny, 
I  never  saw  you  in  this  mood  before — I  never  knew  that 
you  had  anything  but  the  bright,  lively,  happy,  don't- 
care-whether-school-keeps-or-not  mood.  How  much  you 
must  have  suffered.  Can  I  help  you  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  you  who  have  found  me  in  this  mood. 
It  will  not  last  long,  though.  I  have  been  brought  face 
to  face  with  the  realities  of  life  for  the  first  time. 

"  Up  to  the  termination  of  this  flirtation,  I  have  been 
nothing  but  just  'a  happy  girl.'  The  fact  that  every- 
thing which  required  judgment  was  arranged  and  re- 
moved from  my  care  by  all  of  you  who  love  me  left  me 
to  plunge  recklessly  into  my  happiness  with  absolute 
abandon.  I  had  had  so  many  flirtations  and  had  been  so 
accustomed  to  have  men  come  into  my  life,  and  be  every- 
thing while  they  were  near  me,  and  nothing  when  they 
were  away  from  me ;  to  have  my  interest  in  them  cir- 
cumscribed by  the  boundary  of  'extreme  joy  of  propin- 
quity and  despair  of  distance ' ;  and  to  go  into  things  in 
a  '  sporty  '  sort  of  way ;  and  to  expect  to  be  one  of  the 
many  to  him,  exactly  as  each  man  was  always  one  of 
the  many  to  me, — that  I  did  not  conceive  it  possible  to 
have  any  one's  identity  sufficiently  impressed  on  me  to 
become  necessary  for  happiness.  But  now  that  this  affair 
has  shown  me  what  a  reckless  life  I  have  been  leading, 
and  has  brought  me  face  to  face  with  the  stern,  real 
world,  you  must  never  expect  to  see  the  same  old  reck- 
less abandon  again.  I  have,  so  to  speak,  been  intro- 


86  /  S  WEAR. 

duced  to  my  own  judgment ;  and,  while  I  am  going  to 
keep  up  a  show  of  life  and  recklessness  so  that  no  one 
will  suspect  what  I  have  confessed  to  you  is  the  truth, 
you  can  expect  soon  to  see  that  judgment  have  control 
over  my  actions ;  and  soon  dear  old  father  will  begin  to 
find  that  Fanny's  California  trip  has  not  hurt  her  so  much 
as  he  feared. 

"  There,  Frank,  now  that  is  honest  and  ingenuous,  is 
it  not  ?  And  you  can  consider  yourself  flattered  indeed, 
for  I  was  never  so  really  confidential  to  any  one  else  in  all 
my  life." 

He  did  not  answer  ;  but  sat  still  holding  her  hand, 
while  he  continued  alternately  to  gaze  at  her  face,  and 
then  at  the  hand. 

His  silence  worried  her.  She  had  talked  herself  into 
an  unnatural  calmness,  which  contrasted  with  her  pre- 
vious nervousness  ;  so,  in  order  to  break  the  silence,  she 
said,  without  really  caring  to  have  him  answer : 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Frank?" 

"  Your  statement  that  this  unhappy  calamity  with 
Morrison  had  introduced  you  to  your  judgment,"  he  an- 
Stwered.  "  What  little  things  make  great  changes  in  our 
lives !  What  trifling  happenings  start  us  into  entirely 
different  lines  of  existence  !  " 

Then  the  thought  came  to  him  that  it  would  probably 
be  better  to  direct  the  conversation  toward  himself,  for 
her  unpleasant  frame  of  mind  was  apparent  to  him  ;  so 
he  added : 

"  I  was  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  whether  I  had 
ever  been  introduced  to  my  judgment." 

She  appreciated  his  motives,  and  took  advantage  of  it. 

"  Oh,  it 's  lots  of  fun  getting  acquainted  with  yourself, 
Frank,  but  you  must  be  really  stirred  up  in  order  to  get 
the  introduction.  Now,  if  everything  is  running  along 
smoothly,  and  I  am  not  having  any  trouble,  why  I  act 


/  SWEAR.  87 

upon  exactly  the  same  principles,  and  from  exactly  the 
same  motives,  all  the  time  ;  theater  parties, '  dancing, 
lawn-tennis,  flirtations,  and  all  that  take  up  my  whole 
time,  and  I  do  not  get  a  chance  to  think." 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  "  certainly  that  is  enough  to 
take  up  anybody's  time.  You  don't  mean  that  you  have 
been  compelled  to  do  anything  else  with  it?" 

"  So  you  think  you  know  me,  do  you,  Frank  ? "  she 
answered,  evidently  in  a  thoughtful  mood. 

"  Yes,  of  course,  I  do.  Haven't  I  been  almost  a  brother 
to  you  ever  since  your  return  from  California  ? " 

"  Yes,  but  this  is  the  first  time  you  have  found  me  in 
one  of  my  earnest  moods.  My  Aunt  Florence  out  in 
California  had  a  great  influence  over  me,  and  could  do 
almost  anything  with  me.  She  was  the  first  one  who  ever 
let  me  know  that  I  could  take  interest  in  anything  but 
light  society  events  ;  and  I  think  that  I  developed  more 
mental  capacity  from  my  conversations  with  her  than  I 
would  have  gained  had  I  gone  through  the  same  college 
education  Wawona  has." 

"  Well,  you  are  getting  serious,  truly.  I  suppose  we 
can  expect  to  hear  a  sermon  from  you  next." 

"  If  you  really  want  a  sermon,  I  can  give  it  to  you  * 
because  I  think 'I  have  probably  done  a  great  deal  more 
work  upon  religious  topics  than  you  have.  The  truth 
of  the  matter  is,  Frank,  I  really  believe  that  one  day  I 
was  introduced  to  my  own  soul,  just  as  this  affair  has 
introduced  me  to  my  own  judgment.  Every  once  in  a 
while  I  have  a  quiet  little  religious  visit  with  myself. 
Probably,  now  that  I  have  met  my  judgment,  I  shall  have 
nice  little  philosophical  discussions  with  it ;  and  the  first 
thing  you  know,  I  shall  be  instructor  of  philosophy  in 
some  college." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  strange  girl ! "  he  answered,  glad  to  see 


88  *  SWEAR. 

her  joking  tendency  return.  "  I  don't  think  you  could 
have  the  blues  fifteen  minutes,  if  you  tried." 

Then,  fearing  that  a  silence  might  cause  her  to  return 
to  her  unhappy  mood,  and  in  order  to  keep  the  conversa- 
tion directed  in  other  channels,  he  said  : 

"  But  about  your  soul  —  who  introduced  you  to  that, 
Fanny  ?  This  Morrison  trouble  introduced  you  to  your 
judgment :  was  it  another  man  ?  I  am  jealous  again." 

"N-o-o  "  she  answered,  drawling  out  the  monosyllable 
as  if  trying  to  make  up  her  mind  whether  to  continue 
her  confidences. 

"It  was  Nature  herself,  I  think." 

The  expression  on  her  face  showed  that  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  to  go  on  with  her  confidential  talk. 

"  You  find  me  in  a  very  strange  mood  to-day,  Frank, 
— into  the  channels  of  thought  in  which  I  often  drifted 
while  with  Aunt  Florence,  when  I  would  be  really  serious 
and  was  not  acting  on  the  idea  that  everybody  thought  I 
ought  to  be  harum-scarum." 

"  And  in  one  of  these  moods  you  were  introduced  to 
your  soul,  were  you  ? " 

"  Yes.  You  see  it  was  in  this  way.  I  was  spending  a 
week  with  Mrs.  Leslie  at  Berkeley,  a  little  college  town 
in  Alameda  County,  just  across  the  bay  from  San  Fran- 
cisco, the  site  of  the  University  of  California,  and  one  of 
the  dearest  little  places  in  the  world,  cuddled  up  in  a 
bend  in  the  hills  which  form  the  first  approach  to  the 
Coast  Range  mountains. 

"  Immediately  back  of  the  town  is  a  series  of  cafions, 
and  I  loved  to  ramble  through  them  in  search  of  maiden- 
hair ferns. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Frank,  if  I  go  into  extravagant  rap- 
tures, for  if  there  is  any  place  in  the  world  I  am  really  in 
love  with,  it  is  Berkeley.  Along  Strawberry  Creek,  as  it 
runs  back  into  the  hills,  you  can  see  every  possible  variety 


/  S  WEAR.  89 

and  character  of  river  scenery  in  miniature  :  waterfalls, 
ripples,  cascades,  valleys,  recesses,  caves,  caftons, — every- 
thing in  profuse  loveliness.  Well,  in  my  impetuous  way, 
I  started  out  about  four  o'clock  one  afternoon  —  it  was 
in  November  —  I  wandered  up  the  creek,  reveling  in 
the  scene  and  having  a  lovely  little  visit  with  myself.  I 
came  to  a  dark  canon,  the  sides  of  which  were  entirely 
covered  with  maiden-hair  ferns.  I  went  to  work  collect- 
ing, and  when  I  had  gathered  all  I  wanted  it  was  almost 
dusk. 

"  As  soon  as  I  realized  how  late  it  was  I  scrambled  out 
of  the  cafion  and  up  to  the  road  on  the  hill  which  leads 
down  to  Berkeley.  Then  I  beheld  one  of  Nature's  pan- 
oramas which,  had  it  been  reproduced  by  a  painter  would 
have  been  pronounced  by  the  self-satisfied  critics  strik- 
ingly beautiful,  but  overdrawn. 

"Directly  opposite  me  was  the  Golden  Gate,  with  San 
Francisco  bay  lying  almost  beneath  my  feet  in  the  shape 
of  an  irregular  ellipse,  with  the  shorter  axis  between  me 
and  the  Golden  Gate ;  on  the  left  bow  of  the  ellipse  lay 
the  City  of  San  Francisco,  its  towers,  church  steeples, 
smoke  stacks  and  residences  standing  out  on  the  sun> 
mits  of  the  hills  prominently  in  relief,  looking  like  old 
baronial  castles.  On  the  right  bow  were  the  Marin  hills, 
their  summits  topped  with  great  pine  trees,  which  also 
stood  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  lurid  sky  beyond  and 
thus  gave  the  mountains  a  weird,  uncouth  appearance. 

"  There  had  been  no  rain  for  a  week,  and  the  elements 
were  just  gathering  for  a  shower.  The  atmosphere  was 
so  jiense  and  still  that  the  smoke  from  the  furnaces  in 
San  Francisco  had  settled  over  the  town  in  one  murky 
cloud, 

"  The  picture  moved  me  ;  I  stood  perfectly  still,  watch- 
ing the  scene,  for  it  touched  a  chord  which  I  had  never 
felt  before.  After  a  time  I  seated  myself  on  a  rock  be- 


90  I  SWEAR. 

side  the  road  to  watch  the  sunset.  The  refraction  of  light 
through  the  heavy  air  over  the  ocean  gave  the  lowest 
stratum  of  the  sky  a  dense  garnet  color,  which  appeared 
the  more  dense  because  of  the  contrast  with  the  almost 
purple  hue  which  the  woods  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the 
Marin  hills  had  assumed,  on  account  of  the  absence  of 
light  on  them,  as,  owing  to  the  steepness  of  the  hills,  the 
sun  had  set  there  a  full  half-hour  before.  Each  higher 
stratum  had  assumed  a  fainter  tinge  of  garnet,  until,  at 
the  zenith,  the  lighter  finer  clouds  had  but  a  tinge  of 
pink.  It  seemed  as  if  God  himself  had  appeared,  and  to 
those  perfect  surroundings  of  coupled  marine  and  land- 
scape views  had  added  every  variety  of  tint,  to  make  the 
scene  more  striking. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  sat  there,  leisurely  watching 
a  steamer  traveling  from  San  Francisco  to  Saucelito 
immediately  between  me  and  the  Golden  Gate,  and  leav- 
ing behind  it  a  long,  irregular,  sinuous  trail  of  smoke,  be- 
fore the  almost  oppressive  silence  of  my  surroundings 
seemed  to  overpower  me  —  I  hardly  breathed. 

"  Gradually  thoughts  began  to  creep  over  me  I  never 
dreamed  of  before ;  in  fact,  I  did  not  conceive  my  soul 
could  have  them.  In  my  silly,  flippant  way,  I  had  always 
'guyed'  anything  inclined  to  be  poetical ;  but  there,  amidst 
those  surroundings,  my  feelings  seemed  to  force  them- 
selves into  prominence,  and  soon,  even  my  mercurial  self 
realized  that  it  would  be  a  sacrilege  not  to  revel  in  that 
sunset. 

"  At  first  there  came  a  feeling  of  sorrow,  partly  because 
there  was  no  one  for  whom  I  cared  present  to  enjoy  the 
scene  with  me,  and  partly  because  I  appreciated  the  fact 
that  I  was  not  worthy  to  enjoy  such  a  scene.  Then  there 
came  a  softer,  more  impersonal  and  sweetly  sad  feeling, 

'  A  feeling  akin  to  pain, 
That  resembled  sorrow  only  as  the  mist  resembles  rain.' 


I  SWEAR.  91 

"At  length  I  arose,  and  strolled  slowly  down  the  hill, 
stopping  now  and  then  to  watch  some  new  color  effect, 
or  to  try  to  distinguish  some  little  town  on  the  opposite 
hills,  from  which,  here  and  there,  lights  had  begun  to 
twinkle  forth. 

"When  I  arrived  at  home  I  found  the  whole  household 
in  commotion  over  my  absence.  Poor  Mrs.  Leslie  was 
quite  alarmed  at  my  unusual  soberness,  and  would  have 
had  a  worry  over  me  if  I  had  allowed  her. 

"  I  insisted  upon  their  taking  my  excuses  to  some  friends 
with  whom  we  had  an  engagement  that  night,  and  had 
some  toast  and  tea  in  place  of  supper.  And  then,  when 
I  was  all  alone,  I  pushed  a  huge  lounging-chair  up  to  the 
fire,  took  a  big  Maltese  cat  in  my  arms,  and  sat  there  by 
myself  until  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  apparently  melancholy 
and  in  the  blues,  but  in  reality  communing  with  my  soul. 

"  I  actually  believe  for  the  first  time  I  knew  Fanny 
Northrop.  I  ran  over  my  whole  life  from  beginning  to 
end— how  good  every  one  had  been  to  me,  how  trifling 
my  own  aims  had  been — and  everything  of  joy  and  sor- 
row, from  my  childhood  on,  came  welling  up  in  my 
thoughts,  and  whatever  was  truly  worthy  in  me  asserted 
itself  for  the  first  time.  And  for  the  first  time,  also,  I 
appreciated  that  I  had  within  me  a  something,  I  suppose 
you  might  call  it  a  monitor,  which  was  quite  displeased 
with  me  for  my  careless,  aimless  way  of  living.  That 
monitor,  I  suppose,  was  my  soul ;  and  I  was  really  happy 
in  meeting  it. 

"  But  it  was  an  awfully  queer  and  gloomy  way  to  be 
happy,  was  n't  it  ?  Still,  I  am  confident  I  never  spent 
such  a  pleasant  evening  in  all  my  life." 

Her  speech  was  followed  by  silence.  Frank  had  hardly 
time  to  recover  from  his  astonishment  at  this  new  vein 
of  character  which  Fanny  exhibited.  He  knew  that  the 
few  years  she  had  spent  with  her  aunt  in  California  had 


92  /  SWEAR. 

developed  much  of  the  girl's  mental  capacity  and  that 
she  had  done  a  great  deal  of  reading  while  there  ;  but  he, 
in  common  with  the  rest,  had  been  so  accustomed  to 
consider  her  a  light,  gay,  jolly  companion,  that  he  could 
hardly  realize  she  was  capable  of  anything  else. 

Fanny  herself  was  in  a  reverie. 

While  they  sat  thus,  Wanona  Brooke  entered  the  room. 

"Why,  what  a  lugubrious  looking  couple  !  What  has 
happened  ?  Have  you  two  lost  your  best  friend  ? ''  asked 
Wawona. 

"  No,"  answered  Frank  merrily  ;  "  Fanny  has  been 
giving  me  a  picture  of  California  sunsets,  and  at  the 
same  time,  showing  me  a  new  side  to  her  character. 

"  Do  you  know,  now,  that  we  have  only  known  one  side 
of  this  girl  ?  She  is  a  poetess." 

Then  he  turned  jestingly  to  Fanny,  who  was  sitting 
in  the  same  position  as  when  Wawona  entered,  and 
asked  : 

"  Why  don't  you  write  a  book,  Fanny.  You  are  origi- 
nal enough  to  startle  the  woild,  and  if  you  can  do  that 
your  book  will  be  talked  about,  and  if  it 's  talked  about 
will  sell  and  make  a  lot  of  money." 

"Well,  I  may  be  conceited,  old  man,  but  I  'm  not  that 
bad,"  she  answered  ;  shrugging  her  shoulders  as  if  to 
shake  off  her  more  serious  mood  and  resume  her  old  self, 
together  with  its  reckless  dialect. 

"  Every  girl  who  thinks  she  can  write  English,  and  has 
permitted  her  girlish  sentimentality  to  deceive  her  un- 
sophisticated mind  into  believing  that  she  has  a  capabil- 
ity of  conceiving  passion,  imagines  she  can  write  a  novel. 
Exactly  as  every  highty-tighty,  fly-away  thing,  who  can 
say  little  declamations  in  the  way  her  elocution  teacher 
instructed  her,  thinks  she  can  be  a  great  actress.  But  I 
can  tell  you  one  thing,  and  that  is,  if  I  do  write  a  novel 
it  will  be  s  id  generis.  I  will  not  bore  my  readers  with 


/  SWEAR.  93 

two  or  three  chapters  of  introductory  trash,  describing 
the  lovely  valleys  and  beautiful  scenery  of  the  surround- 
ing country,  or  the  peculiarities  of  a  lot  of  ill-sorted  and 
highly  uninteresting  and  absolutely  unimportant  ser- 
vants, or  the  oddness  of  the  system  of  governments  of 
the  adjoining  counties,  or  any  other  of  the  tedious 
twaddle  they  generally  throw  into  books." 

"  And  everybody  skips,"  suggested  Frank. 

"Yes,  and  everybody  skips,"  Fanny  accepted,  contin- 
uing ;  "  I  will  get  right  at  the  dialogue.  It  will  be  quota- 
tion marks  from  beginning  to  end. 

"  If  one  wants  to  read  a  treatise  on  philosophy,  or  a 
history,  or  a  description  of  places,  they  know  where  to 
go  to  find  them ;  and  if  one  wants  to  read  a  novel,  he 
wants  to  hear  people  talk  and  to  get  at  the  plot  and  a 
few  love  scenes.  If  there  is  anything  that  wearies  me, 
it  is  a  society  novelist  who  has  deluded  himself  with  the 
idea  that  he  has  a  mission  to  perform." 

"  How,  then,  do  you  explain  the  fact  that  you  were  so 
much  interested  in  '  Robert  Elsmere '  ?  Surely  it  has 
enough  theological  dissertation  in  it,  and  yet  you  read  it 
three  times,  to  my  certain  knowledge,"  Wawona  remarked, 
for  the  first  time  taking  an  active  part  in  the  dialogue. 

"You  could  not  have  been  so  interested  in  the  love 
story  as  not  to  be  satisfied  with  one  reading.  And  good- 
ness knows,  you  are  not  religious,  for  we  have  all  had 
enough  trouble  to  persuade  you  to  go  to  church,  and  you 
have  driven  poor  Mrs.  Matthews  almost  insane  over  your 
criticism  of  what  few  sermons  you  have  heard." 

Fanny  hesitated  a  second  before  she  answered. 

She  realized  that  the  exhibition  she  had  already  made 
to  Frank  of  the  peculiarities  of  her  lines  of  thought  had 
placed  her  in  a  position  to  be  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion among  her  friends  ;  and  so  she  faltered  a  moment, 
trying  to  decide  whether  to  exhibit  a  little  more  of  her 


94  /  SWEAR. 

solid  self  to  Wawona,  by  entering  into  a  discussion  of 
religious  subjects,  or  to  throw  it  all  off  by  taking  refuge 
behind  her  every-day  butterfly  jollity, 

Finally,  however,  her  more  stable  self  gained  the  as- 
cendancy. She  turned  to  Wawona,  and  said  very  seri- 
ously : 

"Now  I  am  going  to  astonish  you,  too,  in  the  same 
way  I  have  Frank. 

"You  all  believe  because  I  talk  slang,  and  try  to  be  al- 
ways free  from  care  and  independent,  that  I  never  delve 
into  deeper  subjects.  Of  course,  I  cannot  blame  you,  for 
I  have  kept  these  possibilities  to  myself.  But  strange  to 
relate,  and  contradictory  as  it  may  seem  to  Mrs.  Mat- 
thews, I  am  very  much  interested  in  religion  and  theos- 
ophy  and  Buddhism  and  several  other  'isms'  in  abroad- 
minded  way. 

"  You  see,  Aunt  Florence  was  one  of  those  iconoclastic 
thinkers — I  think  that  is  what  they  like  to  be  called— 
that  or  agnostics,  which  is  still  newer  and  more  aufait, 
—who  really  do  not  believe  in  anything  and  who  are  al- 
ways trying  to  keep  everybody  else  from  belief.  And 
every  Friday  night  she  would  gather  together  a  number 
of  her  friends,  and  they  would  discuss  '  advanced  ideas,' 
as  they  called  them.  I  used  to  consider  them  a  great 
bore  at  first,  and  only  attended  for  fear  I  would  hurt 
Aunt  Florence's  feelings  if  I  staid  away.  But,  finally, 
I  became  really  interested  in  them." 

"And  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  became  religious?" 
Wawona  asked,  interested  in  the  girl's  earnestness,  in 
spite  of  herself. 

"  No,  I  do  not  mean  to  say  I  think  I  ever  can  be  good- 
and-go-to-church-namby-pamby  kind  of  '  religious,'  like 
Mrs.  Matthews,"  Fanny  answered,  throwing  off  all  re- 
serve, as  she  felt  she  would  have  to  explain  herself  in 
full,  or  be  wholly  misunderstood.  "And  what 's  more,  I 


/  SWEAR.  95 

don't  want  to  be  ;  nor  do  I  want  to  accept  everything  as 
true  because  the  minister  says  that  the  Bible  says  it  is 
true." 

"Do  not  say  that,  Fanny;  that  is  sacrilegious,"  Wa- 
wona  said,  quite  seriously  affected  by  the  force  with 
which  Fanny  expressed  herself.  "  You  must  have  faith 
in  something,  or  you  will  be  wholly  miserable." 

"  That  is  exactly  the  thought  which  has  brought  me  to 
this  way  of  thinking,"  her  cousin  answered  ;  "  for  belief 
is  not  a  voluntary  act  of  the  mind.  I  do  not  want  to  be 
an  unbeliever.  I  do  want  to  have  faith  in  something, 
and  Robert  Elsmere's  sermon,  before  those  working 
people  is  the  first  essay  sermon,  or  religious  disserta- 
tion I  ever  heard,  or  read,  which  did  not  make  me  think 
I  was  being  gulled  from  the  very  start,  and  therefore  so 
antagonistic  that  I  would  not  even  accept  whatever  of 
the  dissertations  were  really  good  sense  ;  and  I  admit 
that  the  'good  sense'  portion  was  generally  in  the  great 
minority." 

As  she  said  this,  Mrs.  Matthews  entered  the  room. 

Fanny  knew  that  the  old  lady  was  going  to  be  horri- 
fied at  what  she  was  saying,  and  ordinarily  would  have 
desisted  for  while  she  was  always  teasing  the  old  house- 
keeper and  quasi  governess,  who  was  one  of  the  most 
devout  church  members  of  the  good  old  Presbyterian 
school,  on  ordinary  subjects,  she  had  always  heretofore 
held  aloof  from  tilts  with  her  on  religious  topics. 

But  now  she  felt  that  in  justice  to  herself  she  must  con- 
tinue the  discussion. 

"  Really,  I  have  never  heard  a  single  sermon  in  my  life 
which  did  not  contain  something  about  which  I  could 
not  say  truthfully :  '  That  is  not  so,  and  the  minister  say- 
ing it  knows  it  is  not  so,  as  well  as  I  do,  and  he  is  only 
using  it  to  lead  us  to  his  way  of  belief.'  Now,  as  soon 
as  that  happens,  I  become  disgusted  and  obstinate,  and 


96  I  SWEAR. 

my  thoughts  are  further  away  from  true  religious  feel- 
ings than  when  I  went  into  the  church. 

"As  Mrs.  Ward  says  so  truthfully,  in  Robert  Elsmere  : 
'I  turn  away  from  the  Jesus  of  Nazareth  because  he 
has  been  disfigured  and  misrepresented  by  the  churches.' 
So  when  Elsmere  began  to  dissertate  on  a  religion  based 
on  '  experience,' — '  the  record  and  instrument  of  man's 
education  at  God's  hands,'  and  talked  of  a  '  God,  the 
Father  Almighty '  as  a  'force  at  the  root  of  things,' — 
'an  Eternal  goodness,'  —  'an  eternal  mind,  of  which  na- 
ture and  man  are  the  continuous  and  only  revelation,' 
without  mingling  it  with  a  lot  of  miracle  bosh  and  re- 
vealed nonsense,  I  had  the  peculiar  sensation  of  becom- 
ing interested  in  a  religious  book,  and  I  have  read  '  Rob- 
ert Elsmere '  three  times  for  the  theological  essay,  and 
not  for  the  love  story." 

Mrs.  Matthews,  who  had  been  listening  in  speechless 
horror  up  to  this  time,  now  interrupted  : 

"Fanny  Northrop,  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  It  is  exactly 
as  I  warned  your  father.  I  told  him  that  Mr.  Warton, 
our  minister,  said  the  young  and  worldly  minded  people 
were  becoming  so  interested  in  Robert  Elsmere's  teach- 
ings, that  the  book  ought  not  to  be  permitted  to  be  in  the 
house.  And  now  he  will  find  out  the  wrong  which  has 
been  done  by  not  paying  attention  to  my  admonitions. 
Oh,  if  you  could  only  be  brought  to  the  church  and  learn 
'  the  way  to  the  light ! ' " 

Fanny  hesitated  again  a  few  moments. 

She  generally  had  a  deal  of  policy  intermingled  with 
her  apparent  heedlessness,  and  under  other  circum- 
stances she  would  not  have  felt  that  she  had  received 
sufficient  recompense  from  having  worsted  the  old  gov- 
erness to  cause  her  to  follow  out  the  discussion.  But 
now,  thinking  that  both  Frank  and  Wawona  would  think 


/  SWEAR.  97 

her  rather  sacrilegious  unless  she  made  herself  better 
understood,  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Matthews  and  said : 

"  Yes,  that's  the  way  with  you  church  people,  who  let 
the  minister  do  all  the  thinking  for  you.  You  imagine 
you  have  satisfied  your  intellect  when  you  have  not  even 
exerted  it,  and  go  on  using  your  minister's  sayings  for 
intellect. 

"You  talk  about  your  'way  to  the  light,'  she  added, 
warming  to  her  subject;  why,  'Robert  Elsmere'  has 
done  a  great  deal  more  to  bring  me  and  a  thousand  other 
'  worldly  minded '  people,  as  you  call  us,  to  the  'light/ 
than  the  combined  efforts  of  your  so-called  '  divines ' 
could  have  done  in  a  year's  preaching.  They  waste  about 
half  their  sermons  in  complaining  that  we  worldly  mind- 
ed people  do  not  go  to  church." 

Then  the  expression  on  her  face  changed. 

"  Now,  answer  me  one  question.  You  may  not  see  the 
reason  for  it,  but  please  answer  it.  Do  you  know  the 
way  to  Honolulu,  in  the  Sandwich  Islands  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Mrs.  Matthews.  "  Why  should  I  ?  I 
never  was  there." 

"That's  just  it.  Now,  suppose  I  should  give  you  a 
large  sugar  plantation  over  there,  worth  half  a  million  of 
dollars;  how  long  would  it  take  you  to  find  the  way 
there  ? " 

"Why,  I  would  go  right  down  to  Mr.  Smith,  at  the 
ticket  office,  and  ascertain." 

"That's  just  it,  again.  Now,  I,  and  the  rest  of  the 
worldly  minded  people,  are  in  exactly  the  same  condition 
as  to  the  'way  to  the  light.'  We  do  not  want  the  light, 
and  so  all  the  efforts  of  yourself  and  your  tiresome 
preachers  cannot  interest  us  in  the  '  way  to  the  light.' 
But  get  us  interested  in  the  '  light,'  and  we  will  very 
soon  find  some  ticket  agent  in  the  shape  of  a  divine  who 
will  teach  us  the  way  there." 


98  /  SWEAR. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  continued : 

"  The  highest  praise  I  ever  heard  of  '  Robert  Els- 
mere'  came  just  now,  when  you  said  your  minister  was 
complaining  that  worldly  minded  people  were  interested 
in  it.  For  if  'Robert  Elsmere '  can  bring  worldly  minded 
people  to  think  earnestly  on  theological  subjects,  it  is 
getting  them  on  the  first  step  toward  desiring  '  light,' 
and  is  doing  more  than  your  clergymen  themselves  can 
do,  as  they  confess  when  they  complain  from  the  pulpit 
that  they  cannot  get  them  to  church. 

"  To  my  mind,  the  only  way  to  keep  us  from  being 
worldly  minded  is  to  get  us  interested  enough  in  spirit- 
ual affairs  to  think  on  them  seriously ;  and  to  do  this, 
you  must  begin  as  Mrs.  Ward  did — by  stripping  theol- 
ogy of  all  this  miserable  miracle  bosh." 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  another  word  !  I  will  go  to  your 
father  at  once ! "  Mrs.  Matthews  answered,  as  soon  as 
she  had  recovered  from  her  surprise.  "Fanny  Nor- 
throp, the  devil  has  possession  of  you  !  " 

Fanny  turned  to  Wawona  and  Frank,  who  stood  look- 
ing at  her  dumbfounded. 

"  Whew,  what  a  rage  !  That  is  a  fair  sample  of  half 
the  female  theologians.  I  suppose  she  really  would  like 
to  see  me  a  Christian,  but  wants  me  to  reach  belief  in 
her  way.  And  if  I  do  not,  I  absolutely  believe  she  would 
prefer  I  should  remain  without  any  belief.  Am  I  shock- 
ing you,  too,  Wawona  ?  "  she  asked,  as  the  silence  which 
followed  the  precipitate  departure  of  Mrs.  Matthews 
made  her  realize  that,  in  her  earnestness  she  had  com- 
pletely monopolized  the  conversation.  "  I  am  afraid  that 
in  the  heat  of  my  discussion  I  have  been  rather  abrupt." 

"  You  certainly  have  said  very  harsh  things  about 
some  very  sacred  subjects,"  Wawona  answered,  trying  to 
be  truthful  without  hurting  her  cousin's  feelings,  "and 
you  are  hardly  conventionally  religious ;  but,"  she  has- 


I  SWEAR.  99 

tened  to  add,  "  so  long  as  your  religion  has  underlying 
it  the  practical  principle,  '  Do  unto  others  as  you  would 
that  they  should  do  unto  you,'  it  does  not  seem  to  me  to 
make  much  difference  what  your  theories  are.  I,  my- 
self, belong  to  the  Presbyterian  Church  mainly  because 
it  was  my  mother's  church." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  inspiration  —  in  revealed  ideas  ? " 
Fanny  asked,  earnestly. 

"  I  really  have  not  given  the  subject  the  thought  I 
should ;  but  I  have  always  conceived  that  I  did,  merely 
because  it, was  expected  of  me,"  Wawona  answered  se- 
riously, for  Fanny's  earnestness  had  apparently  become 
contagious. 

"  Fanny,  I  begin  to  think  that  the  very  fact  of  my  be- 
longing to  the  church,  and  having  all  my  ideas  prepared 
for  me,  as  it  were,  has  been  the  means-of  causing  me 
to  do  less  thinking  on  such  subjects  than  you  have  done." 

Frank,  who  had  been  an  earnest  and  silent  listener  up 
to  this  time,  now  came  forward. 

"  I  believe  in  inspiration,"  he  said,  "  but  in  a  peculiar 
way.  That  is,  I  believe  that  any  one  who  has  a  natural 
aptitude  for  a  study,  and  who  devotes  his  whole  time  and 
effort  to  the  development  of  that  study,  will  see  and 
know  things  connected  therewith  so  original  that  the 
knowledge  will  seem  to  the  average  person  capable  of 
being  acquired  by  no  ordinary  process  of  the  mind  ;  and 
therefore,  perforce,  to  have  been  inspired.  For  instance, 
my  instructor,  Mr.  Cameron,  with  whom  I  am  studying 
physiological  chemistry,  almost  every  day  performs  some 
very  peculiar  and  original  experiment,  and  oftentimes 
obtains  such  astonishingly  unexpected  results,  that  if  I 
did  not  know  the  immense  amount  of  timeand  labor  which 
his  wonderfully  capable  and  highly  cultivated  mind  has 
devoted  to  the  subject  to  enable  him  to  accomplish  these 


ioo  I  SWEAR. 

results,  I  would  be  prone  to  consider  them  miracles  and 
to  consider  my  instructor  inspired. 

"  So,  of  course,  any  student  of  moral  and  theological 
philosophy  will  have  ideas  on  theology  far  in  advance  of 
those  of  us  who  only  think  of  religion  when  we  are  forced 
to  do  so.  And  if  the  student  have  a  natural  aptitude  for 
such  studies,  he  too  must  have  ideas  so  far  beyond  our 
capabilities  that  they  must  seem  to  us  to  be  r-evealed. 
Hence  it  is  no  wonder  to  me  that  the  followers  of  Jesus, 
with  their  grand  and  noble  thoughts  on  faith  and  belief 
and  their  comparatively  highly  refined  natures,  should 
have  seemed  to  the  ignorant  Roman  populace  to  have 
been  inspired,  and  that  their  writings  should  have  been 
handed  down  to  us  and  accepted  as  revealed  thoughts 
and  teachings." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  think  there  is  any 
one  now  living  who  is  inspired,  do  you  ?"  asked  Fanny, 
quite  as  much  taken  aback  by  Frank's  interest  in  the 
subject,  as  he  had  been  by  hers  a  few  minutes  before. 

It  was  lucky  for  Wawona  that  each  of  her  friends  was 
such  an  interesting  study  to  the  other,  or  else  possibly 
one  of  them  might  have  noticed  the  peculiar  expression 
which  came  over  her  face  at  the  mention  of  Mr.  Cam- 
eron. 

"Not  in  the  usual  acceptation  of  the  term,"  Frank  an- 
swered, as  oblivious  as  was  Fanny  that  Miss  Brooke  had 
had  one  of  her  dearest  memories  brought  back  to  her 
mind. 

"But  do  you  know,  I  almost  thought  Mr.  Cameron 
was  inspired  one  Sunday  morning. 

"  It  happened  this  way.  He  always  takes  a  walk  on  the 
hills  on  Sundays.  This  particular  morning  I  caught  up 
with  him  and  asked  if  I  might  accompany  him.  I  con- 
fess I  am  awfully  fond  of  him,  in  a  sort  of  reverential 
way ;  for  although  he  is  not  much  older  than  I,  he  is  so 


/  SWEAR.  101 

devoted  to  his  work  and  knows  so  much  on  all  scientific 
subjects,  that,  as  I  say,  I  almost  revere  him. 

"Well,  he  picked  up  a  small  piece  of  stone  which  had 
been  washed  down  from  the  hills  ;  and,  turning  to  me, 
said  thoughtfully :  '  Jencler,  if  that  tiny  pebble  could  talk, 
it  would  preach  a  sermon  in  comparison  to  which  today's 
combined  efforts  of  all  the  learned  divines  in  the  world 
would  sink  into  insignificance.  It  would  teach  a  lesson 
of  that  divine  controlling  force  of  the  nature  of  which 
we  are  unable  to  conceive,  but  which  the  theologian 
has  placed  in  the  shape  of  an  anthropomorphological 
God,  that  would  make  the  strongest  sceptic  listen.'  And 
then  he  talked  on  most  interestingly,  showing  how  geol- 
ogy, chemistry,  biology  —  in  fact,  every  science — assist- 
ed in  making  us  believe  and  have  faith  in  the  true  God. 

"  Well,  during  that  talk,  or  preferably  discourse,  he 
obtained  conclusions  which  seemed  to  me  must  be  in- 
spired —  must  be  of  divine  origin  ;  but  which  were  in 
reality  only  the  product  of  his  more  than  ordinarily 
capable  mind. 

"  It  is  really  a  treat  to  know  such  a  man.  I  have  often 
thought  you  would  like  him,  Wawona,  if  you  only  knew 
him.  He  has  so  many  tastes  in  common  with  you." 

The  reaction  in  Fanny's  feelings  had  already  set  in ; 
she  had  become  silent  and  almost  gloomy.  Wawona  had 
been  in  a  half  reverie  ever  since  the  first  mention  of 
her  friend's  name,  but  she  had  been  trying  to  keep  up  an 
apparent  interest  in  the  discussion,  because  she  was  not 
certain  that  her  involuntary  start  at  the  mention  of  Cam- 
eron's name  had  not  been  noticed,  and  therefore,  she 
felt  that  any  tendencies  to  reverie  might  be  construed  into 
some  connection  with  that  start. 

Now  that  Frank  turned  to  her  with  a  direct  allusion  to 
him,  she  felt  herself  redden.  She  knew  she  appeared 


102  I  SWEAR. 

conscious,  and,  thinking  her  only  safety  lay  in  apparent 
carelessness,  asked  : 

"  Was  he  formerly  a  student  ?  " 

"Yes,"  Frank  answered,  pleased  that  she  took  an  in- 
terest in  his  friend.  "  He  was  a  Harvard  man.  Maybe 
you  knew  him  ? " 

She  was  about  to  say,  "  I  did  know  him  " — when  she 
realized  that  she  was  treading  on  dangerous  ground,  as 
she  had  already  alluded  to  him  in  such  a  pointed  way  to 
both  her  hearers. 

She  therefore  determined  to  turn  it  off,  and  answered : 

"  I  do  not  think  I  did,  but  I  would  be  pleased  to  meet 
him,  as  he  is  such  a  dear  friend  of  yours.  Besides,  he 
would  probably  like  to  discuss  religion  with  Fanny." 

Frank  noticed  she  was  not  at  ease,  and  wondered  what 
was  the  occasion  of  it. 

Miss  Brooke  felt  that  she  must  summon  up  enough 
courage  to  start  a  new  subject  of  conversation,  when 
Fanny,  who  had  been  silent  for  a  long  time,  relieved  her 
of  the  necessity  by  saying : 

"  Frank,  will  you  take  me  for  a  ride  ?  I  am  almost  ex- 
hausted. This  being  in  earnest  is  too  much  for  my  brain." 

"  Certainly  ;  if  Wawona  will  excuse  me." 

"  Of  course,  I  will,  but  I  expect  to  have  a  further  con- 
versation with  you  soon." 

When  they  were  well  on  their  ride,  Fanny  said : 

"  Now,  old  man,  we  understand  each  other,  don 't  we  ? 
You  are  not  going  to  be  a  cat-fish  nor  a  black  bass,  and 
we  are  all  always  going  to  be  platonic  friends  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so.  People  say  that  is  impossible.  And 
I  think  myself,  in  general,  platonic  friendship  is  merely 
a  name  we  like  to  give  to  our  intercourse  when  we  are  in 
love  and  do  not  care  to  admit  it.  But  I  think  I  am  cured, 
and  as  you  will  always  be  thinking  of  somebody  else,  I 
feel  certain  that  we  are  safe  to  be  friends." 


I  SWEAR, 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FRANK  JENDER,  during  the  year  which  followed  Morri- 
son's departure  from  Boston,  had  been  so  wrapped  up  in 
his  college  course,  the  completion  of  his  studies,  and  the 
arranging  of  his  post-graduate  work  to  prepare  himself 
for  his  course  in  medicine,  that  he  had  little  time  to  ob- 
serve the  changes  which  were  taking  place  in  his  uncle's 
household. 

He  had  been  a  commencement  speaker  at  graduation, 
and  was  somewhat  piqued  when  Miss  Brooke,  who  had 
always  appeared  to  manifest  so  great  an  interest  in  him, 
had  neglected  to  accept  his  invitation  to  the  exercises, 
especially  as  she  gave  him  no  better  excuse  than  that 
she  had  an  engagement  to  make  a  party  call  that  after- 
noon. 

He,  of  course,  never  dreamed  that  she  found  herself 
involuntarily  flinching  from  facing  a  scene  similar  to  the 
one  which,  a  few  years  before,  had  made  such  an  im- 
pression on  her  girlish  brain.  However,  she  had  com- 
plimented him  very  highly  on  his  oration,  which  she  took 
occasion  to  inform  him  she  had  cut  out  of  the  "  Globe  " 
for  her  scrap-book,  and  in  several  other  delicate  ways 
evinced  so  much  interest  in  him  that  the  pique  was  soon 
forgotten. 

Besides,  she  had  been  interested  in  his  plans  for  the 
future.  He  intended  to  take  a  two  years'  post-graduate 
course  in  organic  and  physiological  chemistry,  under 
Mr.  Cameron,  in  conjunction  with  his  work  at  the  Med- 
ical Department ;  and  was  much  flattered  and  pleased 
that  she  was  so  interested  in  his  scheme,  and  that  she 
agreed  with  him  so  perfectly  in  the  idea  that  a  thorough 


104  *  SWEAR. 

course  in  those  studies  might  develop  interests  which 
would  probably  open  a  new  field  of  specialties  to  him  as 
a  physician.  He  little  suspected  that  the  fact  of  Paul 
Cameron  being  his  instructor  was  a  great  factor  in  Miss 
Brooke's  interest.  And,  truth  to  tell,  she  herself  could 
not  have  told,  had  he  asked  her,  the  extent  of  this  addi- 
tional interest ;  but  had  she  canvassed  her  mind  she 
would  undoubtedly  have  found  that  the  memory  of  her 
happy  associations  with  him  played  a  not  inconsiderable 
part  in  her  new-found  interest  in  abstract  science. 

In  his  post-graduate'  study,  Frank's  social  relations 
with  Mr.  Cameron  assumed  a  more  familiar  character. 
The  enthusiasm  of  the  youth  in  his  work  soon  dispelled 
whatever  distance  the  dignity  of  the  instructor  had  hith- 
erto placed  between  them,  and  soon  they  became  more 
like  fellow-students  than  instructor  and  pupil.  So  Frank 
had  begun  to  make  Mr.  Cameron  his  confidant  and  he 
in  return  had,  during  the  twelve  hours  a  week  in  which 
they  were  thrown  together — almost  alone,  as  there  was 
no  one  else  in  Frank's  course — learned  whatever  there 
was  to  be  learned  of  Mr.  Cameron,  although  that  infor- 
mation was  meager  in  the  extreme. 

There  was  a  college  tradition  about  what  a  "  terror  " 
and  howling  swell  he  had  been  while  a  student,  and  a 
dim  rumor  that  because  his  father  had  lost  'a  fortune 
while  he  was  at  Heidelberg,  he  had  been  compelled 
to  accept  an  instructorship  to  enable  him  to  finish  his 
education  in  the  specialty  he  had  chosen  for  his  life's 
work. 

Frank  had  often  wondered  why  a  man  of  Mr.  Came- 
ron's charming  address  and  attractive  personal  appear- 
ance had  not  gone  into  society,  but  never  had  found  an 
opportunity  to  ask  him  the  reason. 

One  day  he  determined  to  experiment. 


I  SWEAR.  105 

"  Why  don't  you  get  married,  Mr.  Cameron  ? "  he  asked 
in  an  apparently  careless  way. 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Jender,  I  have  had  no  op- 
portunity," he  answered  evasivel) 

Frank  was  not  to  be  put  off  that  easily,  however. 

"  But  you  are  not  a  man  who  has  to  wait  for  an  oppor- 
tunity. With  your  superb  physique  and  presence  and 
ready  address,  you  could  make  an  opportunity  easily 
enough." 

He  looked  at  Frank  attentively  for  a  time.  The  thought 
flitted  across  his  mind  that  the  boy  might  be  trying  to 
find  out  the  present  status  of  his  feelings  toward  Miss 
Brooke. 

Frank,  in  his  confidences,  had  spoken  openly  of  his 
uncle  and  "cousins,"  as  he  called  Miss  Northrop  and 
Miss  Brooke ;  in  fact,  so  frankly  and  so  openly,  that 
Cameron  felt  he  did  not  suspect  the  relations  which  had 
existed  between  himself  and  Miss  Brooke  for  the  few 
days  which  were  still  the  oasis  that  his  memory  con- 
stantly furnished  him  in  his  present  social  desert. 

Frank  had  never  referred  to  Morrison's  connection 
with  the  family,  because  that  connection  was  very  dis- 
tasteful to  himself,  and  also  because  he  was  certain  it 
was  equally  distasteful  to  his  uncle. 

The  instructor  had  been  several  times  on  the  point  of 
questioning  Frank  as  to  whether  Miss  Brooke  had  formed 
any  attachment ;  but  had  refrained  from  doing  so,  in  the 
first  place,  because  his  refined  nature  rebelled  from  prying 
into  others'  affairs,  and  also  because  he  feared  to  excite 
Frank's  suspicion  of  his  connection  with  her  in  the  past. 
So  he  had  contented  himself  with  what  few  stray  refer- 
ences the  young  man  had  made  to  her  in  his  rambling 
talks  of  his  own  affairs. 

Frank,  who  was  waiting  all  this  time  for  an  answer, 
began  to  grow  impatient. 


106  /  SWEAR. 

"  Well,  have  you  figured  it  out  ?  One  would  think  I 
had  given  you  an  abstruse  problem  in  mechanics,  from 
the  amount  of  gravity  you  have  assumed." 

Cameron  had  become  assured  by  this  time  that  the 
boy  knew  nothing  of  his  past,  and  so  answered  : 

"  Oh,  excuse  me  !  You  brought  me  back  to  my  college 
days  and  I  dropped  off  to  thinking  over  the  good  old 
times  I  used  to  have  before  time,  fate,  and  an.bition  com- 
bined to  remove  all  possibilities  for  anything  but  work. 
Yes,"  he  said,  in  what  Frank  thought  a  very  sorrowful 
tone,  "  I  was  something  of  a  society  man  in  those  days  ; 
but  that  was  before  my  father  lost  his  money  and  I  my 
prospects." 

"  But  are  you  not  fond  of  women's  society,  of  dancing 
and  amusements  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  you  would  be  a 
great  social  success,  if  you  would  only  go  out." 

"  I  was  very  fond  of  society  in  my  day,  Frank.  Now, 
all  I  have  for  pleasures  in  that  line  are  the  evergreens  in 
my  memory."  Frank  thought  he  displayed  more  inter- 
est than  he  had  ever  before  known  him  to  do  in  anything 
but  a  scientific  discussion. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  think,  Mr.  Cameron  ?  I  think 
you  have  been  in  love,  and  that  you  are  trying  to  be  true 
to  a  memory." 

Cameron  gave  a  hasty  glance,  to  see  if  he  had  unwit- 
tingly disclosed  his  secret ;  then,  fearing  his  silence 
might  be  misinterpreted,  hastened  to  say  : 

"  No,  it  is  that  my  science  is  so  jealous,  she  will  not 
let  me  have  even  a  memory." 

He  knew  that  he  appeared  conscious  and  ill  at  ease, 
and  was  at  a  loss  how  to  act,  to  prevent  Frank  from 
noticing  his  nervousness.  Out  of  sheer  desperation, 
he  picked  up  a  wash  bottle  from  Frank's  desk  and  going 
into  the  next  room,  conspicuously  filled  it  with  distilled 


I  SWEAR.  107 

water,  so  that  the  boy  would  not  understand  that  he  was 
doing  it  merely  to  gain  time  to  collect  his  thoughts. 

He  might  have  saved  himself  the  trouble,  had  he 
known  that  Frank's  mind  was  so  busy  trying  to  evolve 
some  way  to  probe  further  the  vein  of  information  he 
had  hit  upon,  that  he  had  not  noticed  the  instructor's 
evasion  of  his  question. 

Frank  was  confident  that  he  had  accidentally  stumbled 
upon  a  secret.  At  first  he  determined  to  unearth  this  fur- 
ther, and  then  immediately  decided  that  this  would  not 
only  be  ill-bred,  but  would  probably  be  the  means  of  rais- 
ing a  barrier  between  himself  and  this  friend,  who  was 
beginning  to  be  very  dear  to  him. 

He  concluded  to  try  to  make  him  think  the  conversa- 
tion had  made  no  impression  on  him. 

So  when  Cameron  returned  with  the  bottle,  and  care- 
fully began  to  wash  a  precipitate  he  had  been  filtering, 
in  order  that  his  mouth  might  be  so  busy  that  he  would 
have  an  excuse  to  discontinue  all  conversation,  Frank 
said: 

"  I  wish  that  you  would  come  down  with  me  and  call 
at  my  uncle's  house  some  day.  You  would  find  my  cou- 
sin, Miss  Brooke,  especially  congenial,  and  they  would  all 
appreciate  you.  This  must  be  an  awfully  empty  life  for 
you  to  be  leading,  even  though  you  are  making  such  a 
position  for  yourself  in  the  scientific  world." 

Frank  thought  he  was  disabusing  any  suspicions  in  the 
mind  of  his  friend  that  he  was  trying  to  "pump"  him 
concerning  his  past  life.  The  effect,  however,  was  pre- 
cisely the  reverse. 

Cameron  saw  he  must  turn  the  conversation,  and 
answered : 

"Thank  you  ever  so  much,  Jender,  but  I  am  so 
wrapped  up  in  my  work  I  cannot  spare  myself  the  time." 


io8  /  SWEAR. 

Then  seeing  that  Frank  was  preparing  to  push  the 
invitation  further,  forced  himself  to  add  : 

"Instead  of  my  life  being  empty,  I  consider  it  just  the 
opposite. 

"  In  my  scheme  of  life,  the  only  happy  man  is  the 
contented  one.  And  he  only  is  contented  who  is  accom- 
plishing the  aims  for  which  he  is  living.  Social  life  has 
such  an  indefinite  aim  that  it  is  incapable  of  accomplish- 
ment, and  hence  knows  not  what  contentment  is. 

"  For  that  matter,"  he  added,  more  at  ease  now  that 
he  saw  his  way  clear  to  lead  the  conversation  where  he 
wished,  "  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  living  at  present.  I  am, 
as  it  were,  merely  in  a  transition  state,  storing  away 
forces  in  a  latent  form,  which  are  going  to  be  useful  and 
apparent  when  I  do  begin  to  live; 

"  I  have  often  thought  our  lives  were  built  by  ages  and 
divided  into  eras,  much  as  the  geologists  teach  us  the 
world's  life  has  been  buiit  up  and  divided. 

"  There  are  periods  of  slow  growth  and  periods  of  rapid 
growth.  During  the  periods  of  slow  growth  are  left  the 
traces  of  animal  and  vegetable  life,  which  enable  the 
geologists  to  determine  the  characteristics  of  the  fauna 
and  flora  of  that  period.  And  while  the  forces  which 
produce  the  onward  change  are  apparently  inactive,  they 
are,  in  reality,  depositing  strata  after  strata  on  the  out- 
lines of  the  seashore,  and  storing  up  within  the  earth  by 
their  superincumbent  pressure  latent  forces,  which,  at 
the  proper  time,  react  and  become  apparent,  and  cause 
the  rapid  change  which  produces  the  new  and  advanced 
era.  Now  I  am  developing  traits  and  absorbing  ideas 
which  are  some  day  going  to  be  matters  of  my  personal 
history,  and  at  the  same  time,  I  am  storing  up  the  latent 
forces  which  are  to  enable  me  to  open  up  a  new  era  in 
my  own  life,  and  with  those  latent  forces  as  apparent  ones, 


/  SWEAR.  iog 

to  revel  in  the  life  of  a  savant  on  account  of  my  consci- 
entiousness to  duty  as  a  student." 

"Yes,"  Frank  interrupted,  fate  seeming  to  drift  him 
into  matrimonial  lines,  "but  you  may  continue  in  this 
age  of  slow  growth  so  long  as  to  cut  out  all  possibilities 
of  domestic  happiness.  I  should  like  to  see  you  the  head 
of  a  home.  You  would,  in  my  mind,  make  an  ideal  hus- 
band." 

Cameron  saw  that  his  attempt  at  distraction  was  not 
successful.  The  boy  seemed  possessed,  and  must  be 
answered. 

"You  speak  of  my  marrying.  How  absurd  that  would 
be  in  my  present  surroundings,"  he  said  earnestly. 

"  My  wife  must,  of  necessity,  have  culture,  and  must 
therefore  have  been  accustomed  to  the  pleasures  and 
conveniences  of  a  home  of  refinement — of  wealth. 

"Now  I,  with  my  salary  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars 
a  year,  have  barely  enough  to  live  as  I  desire,  and  supply 
myself  with  the  necessary  apparatus  and  appliances  for 
pursuing  my  chosen  work.  What  fool-hardiness,  then,  to 
ask  some  highly  bred  girl  to  sacrifice  the  pleasant  acces- 
sories of  wealth  which  have  become  almost  a  necessity 
to  her,  to  join  me  in  a  search  for  honor,  which  is  entirely 
dependent  on  my  mental  capacity  for  success." 

"But  if  a  woman  of  that  kind  should  ever  know  you 
well  enough  to  appreciate  your  true  worth,"  Frank  inter- 
rupted, not  appearing  to  notice  the  air  of  uneasiness 
which  the  instructor  had  assumed,  "  tho.:e  sacrifices  you 
speak  of  would  fade  into  insignificance  when  compared 
with  the  pleasure  of  companionship,  and  the  joy  and  ela- 
tion of  being  a  party  to  your  successes." 

At  first  the  thought  came  to  Cameron,  "  Wawona  has 
sent  him  as  a  forerunner  to  try  me."  But  a  glance 
at  Frank  showed  him  that  his  wish  was  father  to  the 
thought,  and  he  said  aloud,  somewhat  in  sadness,  due  no 


no  I  SWEAR. 

doubt  partly  to  disappointment  because  his  suspicion 
was  not  well  grounded  : 

"•No,  Frank,  that  is  a  thing  of  the  past ;  that  is  the 
ignis  fatuus  of  youth.  But  enough  of  me.  How  are  you 
getting  along  with  your  analysis  ?  " 

Frank  felt  this  meant  an  end  to  the  discussion  of 
his  private  affairs.  He  would  have  liked  to  push  the 
matter  further,  but  Cameron's  air  showed  plainly  that  he 
felt  he  had  been  led  into  saying  a  great  deal  more 
than  he  intended.'  So  he  reluctantly  answered  : 

"  Fairly  well ;  I  am  having  some  trouble  with  that  last 
one." 

"  Can  I  help  you  ?  "  the  instructor  asked,  anxious  to  be 
alone,  but  careful  to  act  so  as  not  to  excite  suspicion. 

"  I  don't  think  so,  thank  you ;  but  I  do  hope  you  will 
think  favorably  of  my  invitation." 

"  Well,  we  will  see,"  he  answered,  and  walked  into  his 
private  office,  much  relieved  at  escaping  from  his  danger- 
ous cross-examination. 

Frank  wondered  if  it  were  only  his  imagination  which 
caused  him  to  detect  a  tendency  to  sadness  in  his  friend's 
tone  when  he  said,  "  That  is  a  thing  of  the  past."  Alto- 
gether, the  whole  interview  had  been  very  interesting 
to  him,  and  he  was  convinced  that  there  was  a  "  woman 
at  the  bottom  of  it."  How  much  greater  would  his  inter- 
est have  been,  had  he  known  that  his  Wawona  was  that 
woman ! 


/  SWEAR.  in 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAUL  MORRISON  had  always  thought  that  he  would 
find  it  no  trouble  at  all  for  him  to  throw  from  his  mind 
any  object,  person,  or  occurrence  he  desired  forgotten. 
He  had  accepted  his  uncle's  theory  that  a  properly  cul- 
tivated will  could  compass  anything  in  the  way  of  mental 
action.  But  during  his  trip  across  the  ocean  back  to 
Europe,  he  discovered  that  his  will  power,  while  it  might 
accomplish  wonders  in  the  way  of  controlling  the  action 
of  the  mind,  had  considerable  trouble  in  controlling  inac- 
tion. 

Every  novel  he  read  contained  some  little  passage 
which  reminded  him  of  something  which  had  happened 
to  himself  and  Fanny  Northrop.  Every  quaint  or  origi- 
nal squib,  or  bit  of  doggerel  verse,  which  attracted  him 
because  of  its  uniqueness  or  originality,  produced  in  him 
a  fleeting  wish  that  he  might  quote  it  to  her  and  enjoy 
her  criticism  of  it.  And  in  a  thousand  other  ways  mem- 
ory apparently  sought  to  prove  to  him  that  she  and  her 
manners  had  taken  a  much  stronger  hold  on  him  and  his 
mind  than  he  had  at  first  thought. 

Then,  to  cap  the  climax,  he  met  an  old  lady  whose 
name— Miss  Goodfellow — proclaimed  her  to  be  an  old 
maid,  but  whose  constant  recurrence  to  topics  which 
gave  her  an  opportunity  to  philosophize  on  the  fact  that 
"marriage  was  a  failure"  made  him  accept  as  true  the 
rumor  that  she  had  been  a  great  flirt  in  her  youth, 
had  been  married  for  her  money,  and  after  obtaining  a 
divorce  had  taken  her  maiden  name  and  attempted  to 
revenge  herself  on  the  world  at  large  by  pessimistically 
informing  her  matrimonially  inclined  young  friends  of 


ii2  I  SWEAR. 

the  trials,  troubles,  and  tribulations  of  ill-assorted  mar- 
riages. 

"The  man  I  pity  most,"  she  said  one  day  to  Morrison, 
when  she  had  him  alone  in  a  tete  a-tete  corner  of  the  la- 
dies' cabin  on  the  steamer,  and  had  forced  the  conversa 
tion  around  to  her  pet  hobby — "is  the  man  who  reasons 
himself  into  marrying  one  girl,  while  in  reality  he  is  in 
love  with  another.  Of  course  I  mean  really  in  love." 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you,  Miss  Goodfellow,"  answered 
Morrison  ;  "  I  think  it  is  not  so  in  all  cases.  If  a  man 
really  cares  for  the  girl  he  is  going  to  marry,  and  feels 
that  her  charms  are  not  of  the  kind  which  will  pall  on 
his  interest,  and  has  will  power  enough  to  crush  in  their 
incipiency  any  thoughts  of  the  other,  he  must  sooner  or 
later  become  so  enamored  of  the  girl  he  has  married  as 
to  deaden  all  thoughts  of  the  other,  and  ultimately  to 
cease  to  need  the  use  of  his  will." 

"  That  is  all  very  well  in  theory.  But  you  will  find, 
with  Dryden,  that  % 

'  The  more  we  raise  our  love, 
The  more  we  pall  and  cool  and  kill  his  ardor/  " 

answered  the  old  lady.  "  You  will  find  in  life  that,  as  to 
true  affectionate  love,  your  mind  will  be  like  the  works 
of  an  elegant  watch,  into  which,  no  matter  how  carefully 
the  case  is  constructed,  dust  will  invariably  penetrate. 
The  only  way  to  prevent  the  works  from  being  reached 
is  to  put  it  away  in  its  case  and  let  it  stop.  So  with  the 
mind  which  has  once  known  true  affection — the  only 
way  to  prevent  remorseful  thoughts  is  to  absolutely  stop 
its  workings  ;  for,  if  you  do  not,  every  mental  effort, 
every  mental  function,  will  have  in  it  something  to  bring 
back  memories  of  the  other.  And  no  matter  what  one's 
theories  may  be,  she  who  is  the  present  one  will  never 
be  able  to  replace  that  which  we  conceive  might  have 
been,  had  we  been  joined  with  the  other." 


I  SWEAR.  113 

"  Then  you  think,  with  the  essays  of  the  '  sweet  girl 
graduates '  of  the  seminaries,"  he  said  jokingly,  trying 
to  convince  himself  that  he  did  not  agree  with  her,  "that 
'anticipation  is  sweeter  far  than  reality '  ?  Now,  I  think 
a  man  of  the  world,  with  worldly  instructions  of  the 
value  of  the  homely  maxim,  '  A  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth 
two  in  the  bush/  is  assured  that  Dryden's  'palling' 
would  be  out  of  the  question,  since  there  would  never 
be  any  necessity  for  his  love  to  be  'raised.'" 

"That  is  begging  the  question.  If  all  three  birds  were 
of  the  same  kind — linnets,  for  instance— your  maxim 
would  do  very  well.  But  if  your  man  of  the  world  was 
one  who  happened  to  be  particularly  fond  of  the  song  of 
the  canary,  and  only  passingly  fond  of  the  chirp  of  the 
linnet,  and  in  his  attempts  to  hold  the  linnet  which  he 
had  in  his  hand  he  had  permitted  the  canary,  now  in 
the  bush,  to  escape  and  join  the  other  linnet,  I  do  not 
think  his  will  power  would  ever  be  strong  enough  to  en- 
able him  to  become  sufficiently  in  love  with  the  chirp  of 
the  linnet  but  that,  when  he  heard  another  canary  sing, 
memory  would  cause  his  love  to  pall  a  la  Dryden,  and  he 
would  regret  not  having  dropped  the  linnet  and  spent 
his  time  in  recapturing  the  canary.  And  this  feeling  will 
be  increased  if  his  imagination  happens  to  be  such  that 
the  excellence  of  this  particular  canary's  song  is  intensi- 
fied by  an  over-appreciative  memory." 

The  thrust  was  so  decidedly  at  the  home  of  Morrison's 
thoughts,  that  he  soon  found  an  excuse  to  withdraw  and 
be  alone. 

From  that  time  on,  the  memory  of  Fanny  Northrop  in 
his  mind  assumed  the  shape  of  an  escaped  canary.  Plan 
as  he  would  for  distractions,  there  would  always  be  a 
something  to  bring  her  back  into  memory. 

As  soon  as  he  had  reported  progress  to  his  mother  at 


n4  I  SWEAR. 

their  old  home,  he  tried  traveling,  drifting  hither  and 
thither,  from  one  capital  on  the  continent  to  another. 

It  was  in  vain.  He  always  had  one  problem  uppermost 
in  his  mind. 

At  one  time  the  thought  came  to  him  that  if  he  could 
only  conquer  the  influence  which  the  almighty  dollar 
had  over  his  reasons  for  action,  that  if  his  financial  de- 
pendence on  his  uncle  could  be  removed,  possibly  fate 
might  step  in  and  assist  him  in  undoing  what  she  had 
forced  him  to  do.  But  as  he  saw  no  immediate  prospect 
for  a  sufficient  income  in  the  study  of  law,  he  gave  up 
hoping  to  try  to  act  without  his  uncle. 

Finally  he  drifted  back  to  London,  and  was  about  to 
make  arrangements  to  commence  his  studies  at  the  Inns 
of  Court,  when,  as  luck  would  have  it,  he  received  a  let- 
ter from  an  old  classmate  at  Oxford,  Arthur  Seymore, 
now  a  Master  at  Eton,  with  whom  he  had  done  a  great 
deal  of  work  while  at  college.  Seymore  invited  him  to 
run  up  and  spend  his  Christmas  holidays  with  him. 

He  did  so.  After  he  had  been  at  the  old  school  town 
a  few  days,  he  found  the  memories  of  his  college  asso- 
ciations, brought  back  to  him  by  his  old  college  friend, 
were  the  first  distractions  which  were  at  all  likely  to  be 
permanent.  The  society  phase  of  his  character  was  Jost 
sight  of  in  this  reveling  in  his  scholastic  reminiscences, 
and  he  found  himself  involuntarily  drifting  into  lines  of 
conversation  and  thoughts  which  were  in  no  way  con- 
nected with  "her."  It  gave  him  hope.  So,  when  he 
found  the  position  of  master  of  the  third  form  vacant, 
with  a  salary  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year, 
he  determined,  much  to  Seymore's  astonishment,  to 
accept  it. 

"  Merely  to  keep  my  mind  busy,"  he  explained  to  him- 
self ;  "  and  besides,  I  think  Wawona  would  like  the  idea." 


I  SWEAR  115 

He  made  arrangements  to  enter  upon  his  work  a 
month  after  the  beginning  of  the  new  term. 

He  realized  that  he  could  no  longer  be  of  society  ;  so 
he  returned  to  Edinburgh,  gave  up  his  apartments,  packed 
away  his  dress  clothes,  ordered  a  complete  new  outfit  of 
somber  garments,  discharged  his  valet,  and  entered  into 
preparations  for  his  duties  in  dead,  sober  earnest. 

At  the  time  appointed  for  him  to  commence  his  new 
work,  it  would  have  taken  a  very  clever  man  to  discover 
Paul  Morrison,  the  friend  of  Erylc  Vansandt,  of  the 
Somerset  Club,  in  P.  C.  Morrison,  Esq.,  Master  of  the 
third  form  at  Eton. 

His  labors  proved  to  be  the  best  means  he  had  yet 
found  to  distract  his  mind  from  his  memory,  and  he  was 
about  congratulating  himself  that  the  chirp  of  the  linnet 
had  reached  the  same  stage  of  appreciation  in  his  mind 
with  the  song  of  the  canary,  and  that  his  uncle's  theory 
about  the  capabilities  of  a  well-trained  will  accomplishing 
any  desired  end  in  mental  control,  even  though  antagon- 
ized by  affection  and  passion,  was  proven,  when  he  re- 
ceived the  answer  to  his  last  letter  to  Fanny  Northrop. 

The  envelope  was  so  covered  with  post-marks  as  to 
suggest  small-pox.  It  had  followed  him  from  Edinburgh 
to  London,  to  Liverpool,  to  Paris,  and  so  on  for  nearly 
nine  months,  and  now  it  found  him  in  this  quiet  little 
English  town. 

It  burst  upon  him  like  a  clap  of  thunder  from  a  clear 
sky.  The  sight  of  her  handwriting  at  once  brought 
back  to  him  with  renewed  intensity  all  those  feelings 
which  had  troubled  him  that  night  after  the  scene  in  the 
"den." 

He  sat  and  gazed  at  the  much-traveled  epistle  for  a 
long  time  before  opening  it. 

Finally  he  opened  and  read  it,  re-read  it  —  and  then 
there  flitted  over  his  face  a  peculiar  smile  which  seemed 


n6  I  SWEAR. 

to  say,  "  That 's  clever,  but  do  you  mean  it  ? "  At  last  he 
laid  it  down  and  dropped  off  into  a  reverie.  Had  any 
one  observed  him  very  closely,  he  would  have  concluded 
at  once  that  there  were  many  bitter  thoughts  running 
through  his  unspoken  soliloquy  ;  for,  now  and  then,  an 
unpleasant  smile  would  come  across  his  thoughtful  face. 
Still,  the  prevailing  expression  was  that  of  a  student  over 
a  problem  in  which  he  was  much  interested,  and  which 
he  feared  he  could  not  solve. 

Then  he  said  aloud  :  "  If  it  were  not  for  that  sarcastic 
finish,  '  Remember  that  I  never  went  back  on  a  friend/ 
I  could  believe  her  to  mean  what  she  says,  But  that,  and 
the  clever  thrust  at  advising  Wawona  to  doubt  the  'reli- 
ability '  of  my  love,  show  so  much  smothered  vindictive- 
ness  that  I  fear  it  is  just  a  clever  ruse  to  make  me 
think  she  is  master  of  the  situation." 

Then  sitting  bolt  upright,  he  said  : 

"And  isn't  she?" 

He  did  not  answer  himself,  but  permitted  his  thoughts 
to  wander  off  to  America  for  a  time,  till  a  deep  sigh 
found  him  saying  meditatively  : 

"  Could  she  know  how  much  I  long  for  that  complete, 
unconcerned,  free-from-care  companionship  which  we 
enjoyed,  I  wonder  if  she  could  forgive  my  being  my 
uncle's  tool  ? " 

Again  the  wrinkles  on  his  forehead  deepened,  while 
his  thoughts  forced  him  into  such  a  nervous  state,  that 
he  walked  restlessly  up  and  down  his  room. 

"  Why  did  I  let  myself  kiss  her  that  night  in  the  "  den ''  ? 
Why  did  I  trifle  with  my  feelings  ? "  he  said  vehemently. 
"  I  should  never  have  known  how  much  I  cared  for  her 
if  I  had  not  permitted  my  passions  to  lead  us  into  a  posi- 
tion which  made  me  act  with  her  to  protect  her  from  her 
father's  suspicions." 

He  was  now  pacing  back  and  forth  like  a  caged  lion. 


/  SWEAR.  117 

"  Why  ? "  he  said  in  a  fierce  voice,  coming  to  a  halt  in 
his  mad  charge  across  the  room,  "  Why  ?  Why,  for  the 
same  reason  that  Napoleon  permitted  Grouchy  to  take 
thirty-five  thousand  of  his  very  best  men  from  the 
center  of  his  line  of  battle  the  night  before  Waterloo. 
How  was  he  to  know  that  Wellington  was  massing  his 
forces,  any  more  than  I  to  know  her  father  was  coming 
into  that  parlor.  Why  ?  "  he  repeated,  becoming  almost 
tragic  in  his  earnestness,  "  why,  because  he  thought  he 
was  invincible !  So  much  for  conceit."  His  tone  was 
pregnant  with  disgust.  "  Self-reliance  is  a  good  thing, 
no  doubt,  but  too  much  of  it  can  play  the  devil !  "  The 
pent-up  feeling  was  almost  exhausted  as  he  threw  him- 
self into  a  lounging-chair,  the  picture  of  abject  despair. 

He  had  lain  there  with  his  hand  over  his  eyes  for  ten 
minutes  perhaps,  when  Arthur  Seymore  entered. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Paul,  what  is  the  matter  ? "  he 
said,  alarmed  at  Morrison's  appearance  ;  for  the  last  few 
minutes  had  left  their  impression  on  his  face. 

Morrison  arose  and  resumed  his  hurried  walk  without 
answering. 

"See  here,  old  man,"  Seymore  exclaimed,  "you  have 
something  on  your  mind,  and  the  best  thing  for  you  is  to 
unburden  it.  Ever  since  you  took  that  wild  idea  of 
accepting  a  poky  tutorship  down  here,  and  shipped  your 
valet,  and  started  in  to  be  an  economical,  plodding  ped- 
agogue, I  have  been  trying  to  have  a  chance  to  talk  to 
you.  Come,  old  fellow,  relieve  yourself.  You  can  trust 
me,  can  you  not  ? " 

Morrison  came  to  a  halt,  and  turning  to  him  the  sad- 
dest, most  thought-marked  face  he  had  seen  in  many  a 
long  day,  said : 

"  No,  I  cannot ;  I  am  such  a  confirmed  ass,  I  almost 
feel  as  though  I  am  almost  a  criminal.  So  much  so, 


n8  I  SWEAR. 

indeed,  I  fear  you  would  cease  to  be  a  friend  if  you  knew 
what  my  conceit  had  led  me  to  doing." 

He  was  so  nervous  and  excited  that  Seymore  was 
troubled. 

"  It  is  not  money  matters,  is  it,  old  fellow  ? " 

"No,  have  you  not  seen  me  receiving  my  allowance 
every  quarter,  and  have.  I  not  my  salary — "  and.  then  he 
stopped  and  said  with  a  sorry  attempt  at  a  smile,  "  and 
have  I  not  proven  myself  a  practical  business  man  by 
buying  a  farm  ?  No,"  he  continued,  as  if  about  to  give 
vent  to  his  thoughts.  Then  he  stopped  and  meditated. 
Seymore,  who  was  watching  him  intently,  saw  his  mouth 
set  firmly.  A  look  of  determination  came  over  his  face, 
and  his  friend  realized  that  he  was  having  a  struggle  with 
his  inner  consciousness. 

"  No,  it  is  not  money  that  worries  me,"  Morrison  finally 
said  in  a  despondent  tone,  "  it  is  fate.  If  the  Pythago- 
rean theory  is  true,  Seymore,  my  spirit  must  have  been 
guilty  of  an  awfully  peculiar  crime." 

He  turned  and  recommenced  his  pacing,  but  in  a  much 
calmer  manner.  At  last  he  said : 

"  Seymore,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  ask  your  ad- 
vice, I  am  going  to  tell  you  enough  of  my  story  to  base 
such  advice  upon,  and  then  I  want  you  to  keep  it  as 
sacred  as  you  can.  It  is  a  matter  very  close  to  my  heart 
— there  is  a  woman  in  it." 

He  drew  a  chair  close  to  his  friend,  and  continued 
without  looking  up. 

"  You  know  what  a  queer  theory  I  had  at  Oxford  about 
will,  and  how  I  was  always  trying  idiotic  experiments  to 
be  sure  that  I  was  not  being  controlled  by  my  passions  ? " 

"  Yes,"  Seymore  answered,  glad  to  welcome  this  qui- 
eter mood,  "  and  were  always  getting  the  blues  because 
you  felt  you  were  not  acting  as  other  men  did." 

"Well,  that  was  all  done   on   the   suggestion  of  my 


I  SWEAR.  119 

uncle,  John  Craig.  He  was  training  me  so  that  I  could 
prevent  my  feelings  interfering  with  his  business  plans," 
he  said,  determinedly  checking  an  impulse  to  tell  his 
story  without  confessing  his  weakness. 

"  It  seems  he  found  it  necessary  to  have  control  of 
the  husband  of  a  young  lady  named  Wawona  Brooke,  of 
Boston,  Massachusetts,  out  there  in  America,  and  he 
determined  to  have  me  that  husband.  So,  as  he  had 
always  been  very  kind  to  my  mother  and  myself  from  a 
money  standpoint,  and  as  I  had  no  female  incumbrances, 
I  ventured  to  undertake  the  delicate  service  for  him." 

"  I  do  not  exactly  understand  you,  Paul,"  Seymore  in- 
terrupted. "You  cannot  mean  to  say  he  planned  from 
your  boyhood  to  have  you  marry  a  girl  you  never  saw  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,"  Morrison  answered  unswervingly.  "Please 
do  not  interrupt  me,  or  judge  me  too  harshly  before  you 
hear  the  whole  story.  Yes,  that  is  exactly  what  he  did  ; 
educated  me  into  being  a  mere  automaton  to  be  directed 
at  his  pleasure. 

"  But  I  assure  you,  when  I  first  arrived  in  Boston,  and 
found  Miss  Brooke  a  very  charming  woman,  I  did  not 
bear  my  uncle  any  ill  will.  For  some  reason  or  other, 
I  cannot  explain  exactly  to  myself  the  reason,  she  was 
from  the  outset  interested  in  me.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  I  had  taken  the  place  in  her  mind  of  some  one 
whom  she  had  known  before  and  as  I  know  she  was  once 
in  love  with  my  cousin,  Paul  Cameron,  now  an  instructor 
in  Harvard  College,  I  have  often  thought  it  was  he,  and 
have  felt  as  though  I  were,  in  a  manner,  a  criminal  —  ob- 
taining affection  under  false  pretenses.  Well,  she  has  a 
cousin  — 

"  Ah  !  "  interrupted  Seymore,  venturing  to  joke,  now 
that  his  friend  had  assumed  his  natural  tone,  "  the  plot 
thickens." 

"Who  is  in  disposition  and  tendency  of  thought," 


i2o  I  SWEAR. 

Morrison  continued,  not  noticing  the  interruption,  "so 
like  my  true  self,  or  rather  what  that  self  would  have 
been  had  I  not  this  constant  introspective^  guard  upon 
my  thoughts,  that  she  interested  me  greatly  from  the 
outset." 

"  A  sort  of  prototype,  as  it  were,"  Seymore  said,  in 
order  to  assure  his  friend  he  was  keeping  track  of  his 
narrative.  '  Well,  now  the  plot  does  thicken  ;  it  must 
have  been  a  very  absorbing  study." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  was.  In  fact,  I  think  I  never 
would  have  been  interested  in  her  at  all;  if  some  of  her 
peculiar  traits  had  not  impressed  themselves  upon  me  as 
being  particularly  like  my  own.  In  my  feeling  of  security 
at  possessing  a  cultivated  will,  I  never  deemed  it  possi- 
ble that  my  heart  could  be  really  touched  and  continued 
right  along,  heedless  of  the  fact  that  I  might  be  injuring 
my  uncle's  plans.  This  cousin  has  a  society  phase  to  her 
character  too.  In  fact,  that  was  the  side  of  the  shield 
she  ordinarily  exhibited,  and  now  I  think  of  it,  I  believe 
I  am  one  of  the  few  who  know  she  has  any  other  side; 
who  have  been  permitted  to  know  she  has  an  original 
mind,  stored  with  original  ideas  in  reserve." 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  said  Seymore,  "  it  was  a  case  of  diamond 
cut  diamond." 

"  No,"  said  Morrison  thoughtfully,  for  like  most  men 
who  are  seldom  deeply  moved,  when  he  was  in  earnest, 
he  was  dreadfully  so,  "  there  was  no  idea  of  a  battle  on 
either  side.  Each  of  us  considered  ourselves  affection 
proof.  She  had  had  flirtation  after  flirtation,  and  it  was 
reported  had  refused  six  men  in  one  season  at  Newport. 
So  she  plunged  into  our  flirtation  with  as  much  confi- 
dence as  I  did. 

"  The  fact  that  Miss  Brooke  was  her  cousin  made  it 
necessary  for  her  to  act  sub  rosa.  And  of  course,  my 


I  SWEAR.  121 

desire  to  win  her  cousin  made  me  keep  my  movements 
under  cover  also. 

"  Finally  we  had  a  most  peculiar  scene.  I  do  not  know 
what  her  aim  was,  but  really  think  she  intended  to  find 
out  the  nature  of  my  relations  to  Miss  Brooke,  which, 
by  the  way,  at  that  time  was  that  of  an  accepted  lover." 

He  had  apparently  been  rambling  on,  but  now  he  hesi- 
tated as  if  deliberating  whether  to  proceed.  Finally  the 
thought  came,  "  I  might  as  well  be  killed  for  a  sheep  as 
a  lamb,"  and  so  when  Seymore  ventured  to  prompt  him 
with,  "  Well  ? "  he  continued  : 

"That  is,  I  had  asked  Miss  Brooke  to  be  my  wife. 
And  she  had  given  me  permission  to  try  to  gain  her 
uncle's  consent." 

"He  was  her  guardian  ?  "  his  friend  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Morrison  answered,  absent-mindedly. 

The  question  seemed  to  suggest  something  to  him,  for 
he  arose  and  walked  back  and  forth  across  the  room, 
slowly  but  nervously. 

"It  has  just  come  to  me  that  'automaton'  is  exactly 
the  word  to  define  myself.  I  was  so  clearly  and  simply 
an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  that  well-trained  will  of 
mine,  that  I  went  on  carrying  out  the  details  of  its  plans 
to  accomplish  Uncle  John's  wishes,  without  realizing 
that  all  my  better  and  nobler  desires  were  being  frus- 
trated by  my  own  acts.  I  really  believe  I  never  thought 
of  that  until  this  minute.  I  mechanically  followed  the 
course  laid  out  without  even  asking  myself  why." 

He  had  become  so  wrapped  up  in  this  thought,  that 
the  last  sentence  was  almost  a  soliloquy. 

Seymore  watched  him  in  his  journey  back  and  forth 
without  saying  anything. 

At  last  Morrison  realized  that  his  friend  was  waiting 
for  him,  and  so  resumed  his  chair,  and  said : 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  proposed  on  Saturday  morn- 


122  I  SWEAR. 

ing  and  called  on  Sunday  night  to  ask  her  uncle's  con- 
sent. As  luck  would  have  it,  no  one  was  there  to  re- 
ceive me  but  Fanny,  and  she  was  a  picture  whom  Jupiter 
himself  would  have  fallen  in  love  with,  had  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  have  seen  her.  Enough  of  that,  how- 
ever. We  had  a  most  peculiar  scene  in  a  little  room  off 
the  back  parlor  I  think  she  was  experimenting  with 
me ;  I  was  with  her.  We  both  were  counting  without 
reference  to  fate ;  and  somehow  or  other  I  kissed  her. 
In  fact,  we  were  kissing  each  other  when  I  heard  a  man's 
voice  in  the  next  room." 

Again  he  stopped,  a  sorrowful  feeling  having  taken 
the  place  of  the  nervousness  which  interest  in  his  story 
had  kept  up. 

After  a  time  he  continued  : 

"  It  was  her  father.  Of  course,  I  was  politely  shown 
out  of  the  house.  The  peculiar  climax  brought  me  to 
my  senses.  I  realized  that  I  was  in  love  with  Fanny 
Northrop,  and  that,  at  the  same  time,  I  had  a  very  great 
liking  for  and  appreciation  of  Miss  Brooke.  In  fact,  if 
Fanny  Northrop  had  not  existed,  I  think  I  should  have 
thought  more  of  Miss  Brooke  than  of  any  woman  living. 
She  pleased  my  scholarly  and  intellectual  self  ;  the  other 
captured  and  controlled  my  natural  and  spontaneous  self, 
both  in  a  mental  and  physical  way." 

Something  in  Seymore's  expression  seemed  to  make 
him  feel  that  he  was  taking  too  much  time  with  inter- 
polations, and  so  he  returned  to  his  story. 

"  My  pecuniary  dependence  on  my  uncle  made  it  base 
ingratitude  to  retire  from  his  plans  ;  and  at  the  same 
time,  the  fact  that  his  support  would  be  removed,  and 
leave  me  absolutely  penniless  if  I  proposed  to  Fanny, 
coupled  with  the  idea  that  I  had  already  heedlessly  en- 
tangled myself  with  Miss  Brooke,  left  me  but  one  re- 
course :  I  must  ask  Mr.  Northrop  for  Miss  Brooke,  and 


I  SWEAR.  123 

leave  Fanny  Northrop  to  think  that  for  once  she  was 
worsted  in  a  flirtation." 

He  hesitated,  faltered,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as 
if  he  were  about  to  give  way ;  but  he  recovered  himself, 
arose,  and  recommenced  his  nervous  saunter.  At  last  he 
said,  in  a  tragically  sad  voice,  as  he  dropped  into  a  chair, 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands : 

"  You  must  think  me  almost  a  villain  to  confess  this  ! " 

Then,  with  an  effort,  he  shook  off  the  mood,  and  con- 
tinued : 

"Next  day  I  put  on  a  bold  front  and  spoke  to  Mr. 
Northrop  for  Wawona.  He  gave  me  the  most  scathing, 
yet  polite,  verbal  castigation  I  ever  heard  of ;  then  con- 
sented to  the  match  because,  as  he  said,  he  was  afraid  to 
thwart  Miss  Brooke  for  certain  reasons.  He  modified  his 
consent  with  the  provision  that  we  should  try  the  strength 
of  our  affection  by  a  three  years'  separation  ;  that  is,  un- 
til the  termination  of  his  guardianship.  In  return  for  so 
doing,  he  agreed  to  give  us  a  wedding  the  day  of  the  ter- 
mination of  his  trust,  and  present  my  bride"  with  an  an- 
nuity." 

"  And  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do,"  Seymore  said, 
to  assist  him. 

"  He  gave  me  a  week  to  decide,  and,  as  you  say,  there 
was  but  one  course  to  pursue.  I  had  to  trust  fate  to 
extricate  me.  Miss  Brooke  and  I  arranged  to  correspond 
once  a  week,  and  here  I  am." 

"  What  became  of  Fanny  ? " 

"  Well,  that  is  the  point  of  my  story.  She  wrote  after 
I  left  that  evening — I  think  she  must  have  been  in- 
formed of  my  engagement  before  doing  so.  In  her  note 
she  very  cleverly  gave  me  the  mitten  by  innuendo.  The 
next  morning  she  took  a  hasty  trip  to  Dover  to  visit  a 
friend.  I  answered  her  there,  informing  her  of  my  en- 
gagement as  if  I  had  not  suspected  she  knew  it  already, 


124  I  SWEAR. 

and  this  is  the  answer  I  get,"  he  said,  as  he  handed  the 
letter  to  his  friend.  "  You  see,  it  has  followed  me  nearly 
over  the  entire  continent." 

After  carefully  reading  the  letter,  Seymore  turned  to 
him,  still  holding  the  letter  in  his  hand,  and  said : 

"  Morrison,  do  you  know,  I  would  like  to  meet  that 
girl.  I  think  from  this  letter,  and  what  you  have  said  of 
her,  that  you  are  making  the  mistake  of  your  life." 

"  I  know  I  am  ;  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  You  don't  think 
a  girl  of  that  spirit  is  ever  going  to  stand  being  made 
second  choice,  even  if  I  were  willing  to  risk  the  chance 
of  my  uncle's  wrath  by  withdrawing  from  my  engage- 
ment with  Miss  Brooke  ? " 

"  No,"  his  friend  answered,  absent-mindedly,  as  he 
seemed  to  be  developing  an  idea. 

Finally  he  took  to  walking  the  floor,  as  he,  too,  be- 
came nervous  in  his  attempt  to  solve  the  problem  of  his 
friend's  life.  , 

At  last  he  turned  to  Morrison  and  said  : 

"  Has  she  any  common  sense  ?  Could  she  be  econom- 
ical?" 

"Who?" 

"Miss  Northrop." 

"  That  is  a  new  question." 

Then,  after  some  deliberation,  he  answered  : 

"  Yes,  she  could.  I  remember  she  told  me  that  an  aunt 
out  in  California  made  her  go  to  cooking  school,  and  now 
that  I  think  of  it,  made  her  learn  dress-making  also.  But 
why?" 

"  Well,  then,  now  that  you  have  demonstrated  you  can 
be  a  pedagogue,  why  not  take  it  for  granted  that  it  was 
intended  you  should  get  happiness  out  of  a  quiet  domes- 
tic life  in  our  little  English  country  town,  and  casting 
aside  all  aspirations  based  on  high  incomes,  give  up 
your  next  few  years  to  becpming  so  well  established  as 


I  &WEAR.  125 

to  be  able  to  throw  off  all  financial   dependence  on 
others  ? " 

"  I  do  not  catch  your  idea,"  Morrison  answered,  mysti- 
fied at  his  friend's  answer.  "  How  is  that  to  extricate 
me?" 

Seymore  did  not  answer  for  a  time.  He  seemed  to  feel 
that  he  had  not  developed  his  plan  to  his  own  satisfac- 
tion. 

At  last  he  said  : 

"  Well,  my  idea  is  for  you  to  write  to  Fanny  Northrop, 
and  try  to  learn  whether  your  suspicion  that  she  is  inter- 
ested in  you  is  well  founded.  If  it  is,  'jump  the  life  to 
come,'  and  boldly  undo  the  false  position  in  which  you 
have  put  yourself,  make  a  full  explanation  to  your  uncle 
and  then  trust  to  yourself  and  your  own  capabilities. 
Very  soon  fate  will  show  you  an  opportunity  to  accom- 
plish your  object." 

"I  don't  think  I  have  the  same  confidence  in  fate  that 
you  have.  The  fickle  jade  has  not  played  such  tricks  on 
you  as  she  has  on  me.  Yet,  I  suppose  we  are  all  children 
of  circumstances." 

"  Man  is  a  creature  of  circumstances,  no  doubt ;  but 
most  of  us  follow  out  Micawber's  principles,  and  wait  for 
circumstances  to  assist  us,  instead  of  taking  hold  of  every 
opportunity  which  offers,  to  be  absolutely  certain  that 
we  do  not  miss  the  circumstance  which  is  our  particular 
opportunity." 

"  Well,  I  will  think  of  it ;  and  I  certainly  thank  you 
very  much  for  your  earnest  interest,  Seymore,"  Morri- 
son answered,  after  a  short  study. 

"  It  seems  to  me  to  be  the  best  plan,"  Seymore  an- 
swered, as  he  rose  and  prepared  to  retire.  "  You  will 
find,  I  think,  that  an  open,  straight-forward  explanation 
will  ultimately  right  things." 


126  I  SWEAR. 

Morrison  continued  in  a  brown  study  for  a  long  time 
after  his  friend  had  departed. 

Finally  he  thought : 

"  One  open,  straight-forward  explanation  would  be  an 
easy  thing;  but  I  have  about  five  to  make." 

However,  he  concluded  to  write  Fanny  in  order  to 
find,  if  possible,  whether  there  was  any  hope  of  a  recon- 
ciliation in  case  he  should  determine  to  attempt  such  a 
thing. 

The  receipt  of  her  letter  gave  him  sufficient  excuse  for 
making  the  attempt. 

The  result  of  much  thought  and  revision  was  the  fol- 
lowing letter : 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  NORTHROP  : 

"After  many  days,  I  answer  your  letter  of  June  2, 
1 8 — ,  written  from  Dover  nearly  a  year  ago,  and  ad- 
dressed to  me  at  the  Club. 

"  It  was  delivered  to  me  today,  here  in  Eton.  I  inclose 
its  envelope  to  show  you  its  fate.  You  will  find,  I  think, 
eight  different  post-marks  from  as  many  different  post- 
offices. 

"  Since  its  departure  from  New  York,  nine  days  after 
my  own,  much  has  happened.  I  have  been  busy  trying 
every  device  possible  to  prevent  my  desires  leading  me 
back  to  thoughts  of  Boston,  and  had  about  concluded  I 
had  found  the  panacea  here  in  Eton,  where  I  have  ac- 
cepted a  mastership  in  my  old  school,  when  your  letter 
arrived,  and  proved  to  me  the  fallacy  of  such  a  conclu- 
sion ;  for  at  this  writing  I  confess  I  am  tempted  to  run 
back  to  Boston  and  have  another  of  our  interesting  talks. 

"  You  are  a  particularly  happy  mortal.  I  believe  I  envy 
you,  or  would  if  it  were  not  a  sin.  You  were  always  so 
cheerful  and  happy,  that  whenever  I  have  the  blues  I 
feel  like  crossing  the  pond  and  having  you  cheer  me  up. 


I  SWEAR.  127 

"  Would  you  treat  me  as  kindly  as  you  did  in  the  past  ? 
If  so,  I  verily  believe  I  would  return  to  Boston,  come 
what  would. 

"Under  the  circumstances  I  suppose  your  father  would 
not  consider  me  a  welcome  guest.  However,  I  feel  cer- 
tain that  he  never  entirely  understood  our  last  meeting, 
and  hope  he  has  forgotten  it  by  this  time.  Would  that 
I  could  also,  for  I  must  confess  it  constantly  recurs  to 
me. 

"Wawona  said  in  her  last  letter  something  about  your 
being  restless,  and  that  possibly  you  might  take  a  flyer 
over  here,  or  on  the  continent.  If  you  should  think  of 
it,  let  me  know,  and  count  me  as  one  of  your  retinue." 

"  You  see  I  have  hastened  to  write  at  once,  so  as  to 
explain  the  reason  for  my  long  delay  in  answering ;  if 
you  in  return  will  write  me  all  the  news,  I  promise  you 
a  long  letter  next  time. 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"PAUL  MORRISON. 

"August  16,  18— ." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FANNY  NORTHROP  had  quite  surprised  Frank  Jender  by 
the  way  she  kept  her  resolution  to  cultivate  her  more 
elevated  and  mental  qualities  at  the  expense  of  her  light, 
gay,  society  enjoyments. 

He  began  to  feel  she  was  quite  Bostonese,  and  she 
herself  could  hardly  realize  she  had  ever  had  a  California 
training  in  ease  and  abandon  of  manner. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  was,  that  of  the  lighter  men 
she  knew  none  seemed  to  her  so  clever  as  Morrison  had 


i28  I  SWEAR. 

been,  and  all  were  brought  in  contrast  with  him  by  her ; 
so,  the  very  tendency  to  be  light  and  frivolous,  brought 
with  it  its  antidote  ;  and  she  had  readily  returned  to  the 
line  of  action  on  which  she  had  resolved. 

All  growth  is  gradual ;  and  so,  in  general,  is  all  dis- 
solution. This  was  the  history  of  Morrison's  influence 
with  Fanny.  Within  three  months  after  his  departure, 
she  and  Wawona  had  become  much  more  companion- 
able. They  undertook  a  course  of  reading  together,  and 
finally  took  up  some  work  in  advanced  French  under 
the  same  tutor. 

Fanny  saw  that  her  interest  in  these  subjects  was  ar- 
tificial ;  but  they,  at  first,  served  to  keep  her  mind  busy, 
and  away  from  thoughts  of  the  past,  and  finally  became 
to  seem  natural  from  long  habit. 

Morrison's  letter  from  Eton  surprised  her  nearly  as 
much  as  her  letter  had  surprised  him.  Its  receipt 
effaced  the  effect  of  her  year's  work  instanter.  She  was 
again  back  to  her  old  self,  and  was  quite  astonished  to 
'see  how  easily  the  sight  of  his  handwriting  set  her  heart 
to  beating  violently.  She  was  afraid  that  Parker  had 
noticed  it  as  she  handed  her  the  letter ;  and  immediately 
determined  not  to  open  it  until  she  had  arrived  safely 
within  the  sacred  confines  of  her  own  room. 

After  having  read  it  twice,  she  said  to  herself : 

"  Well,  I  verily  believe  he  is  caught,  too.  It  would  be 
awfully  funny  if  it  were  not  my  own  funeral." 

She  picked  up  the  letter  again. 

"  So  he,  too,  has  taken  to  books  for  solace." 

Then  there  came  the  thought  that  he  would  write 
just  such  a  letter  if  he  were  trifling  with  her  affections, 
and  this  caused  her  to  again  analyze  the  letter  as  a  whole. 

"  No,  he  has  left  himself  too  open  to  be  flirting  with 
me  ;  but  I  must  be  careful  and  not  permit  myself  to  be 
led  into  another  '  scene  in  the  den,'  "  she  concluded. 


I  SWEAR.  129 

At  last  she  determined  to  answer  him  in  a  guarded 
way  and  to  experiment  to  see  if  he  were  sincere,  taking 
care,  at  the  same  time,  not  to  appear  too  willing  to  meet 
his  advances. 

After  many  corrections  and  amendments,  she  satisfied 
herself  with  this  response : 

"  DEAR  MR.  MORRISON  : 

"  Your  long  delayed  answer  came  today,  and  I  am  show- 
ing my  appreciation  of  it  by  replying  at  once. 

"You  have  neglected  to  notice  several  of  my  most 
pointed  inquiries.  I  want  them  answered  in  your  next 
and  principally  the  one,  '  Why  did  you  not  succumb  to 
my  experiments  ? ' 

"  I,  too,  have  taken  to  literary  pursuits,  not  in  the  way 
of  becoming  an  instructor,  but  merely  as  a  student.  Wa- 
wona  and  I  have  been  devoting  two  hours  a  day  to  study 
for  nearly  six  months. 

"  You  ask  me  if  I  would  treat  you  as  kindly  as  before  in 
case  you  should  come  back  ?  All  I  can  say  is,  that  I  am 
eminently  selfish  and  so  would,  of  course,  welcome  you  as 
the  means  of  giving  me  many  pleasant  hours.  But  do 
you  realize  what  a  return  to  Boston  means  ?  You  must 
remember  that  my  father's  word  is  law,  and  when  he  says 
a  thing  he  means  it. 

"  By  the  way,  you  are  mistaken.  My  father  did  under- 
stand our  last  scene  in  the  den.  How  do  I  know  ?  Not 
through  him  directly.  He  always  finds  some  delicate 
little  way  to  hint,  which  explains  everything 

"  You  see,  about  two  days  after  I  returned  from  Dover, 
I  was  waiting  with  him  for  the  coachman  to  bring  up  the 
carriage  and  drive  us  over  to  Maiden  for  a  call.  It 
was  quite  dark.  He  was  on  the  step  below  me.  I  leaned 
over  and  kissed  him.  He  pretended  to  be  quite  discon- 
certed, and  said  jokingly,  '  Be  careful,  be  careful,  Fanny, 


130  1  S  WEAR. 

Job  might  see  you  and  fancy  I  was  Mr.  Morrison.'  I  did 
not  say  anything,  but  I  knew  then  that  he  knew,  though 
he  has  not  referred  to  the  subject  since. 

"  I  know  you  would  have  to  completely  rearrange  your 
plans  to  return  here.  So  I  feel  you  would  hardly  find 
yourself  recompensed  by  one  of  our  'interesting  talks,' 
as  you  so  kindly  call  our  chats.  Still,  if  it  does  you  any 
good  to  know  it,  I  will  confess  that  the  memory  of  the 
hours  spent  in  conversation  with  you  are  remembered  as 
some  of  the  pleasantest  of  my  life,  and  I  sincerely  hope 
that  when  you  again  return  to  Boston  we  can  have  more 
of  them. 

"  We  have  been  having  quite  fair  weather  of  late,  but 
tonight  there  is  one  of  our  erratic  thunder  storms. 
Frank  Jender  is  here  even  more  than  usual ;  but  I  for- 
got, you  never  met  him,  did  you  ?  He  is  a  sort  of  cousin 
to  us,  you  know,  one  of  the  kind  of  boys  you  can  have 
for  a  brother,  without  being  fearful  that  they  may  pro- 
pose. 

"  Now  I  feel  I  have  quite  complied  with  your  condi- 
tions, and  can  expect  the  promised  '  long  letter '  in  re- 
ply. 

"Please  do  not  forget  to  answer  my  unanswered  ques- 
tions. 

'•'  Your  sincere  friend, 

"  FANNY  NORTHROP. 

"  NORTHROP  HALL, 

"September  10,  18 — ." 

When  she  had  finished  the  letter  she  half  determined 
not  to  send  it. 

She  feared  at  first  that  he  might  think  her  altogether 
too  easy  prey  ;  and  then,  she  felt  that  if  she  missed  this 
opportunity  to  put  him  to  a  test,  she  might  lose  the  chance 
of  her  life  to  prevent  the  man  of  her  choice  marrying 


I  SWEAR.  131 

some  one  whom  she  was  almost  certain  he  did  not  care 
for  as  much  as  he  did  for  herself. 

At  length,  to  end  all  vacillation  she  addressed  it  and 
rang  for  Parker. 

"  Parker,  I  want  you  to  mail  this  letter  at  once." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  Parker  answered. 

Then  came  the  thought : 

"What  if  Frank  should  know  I  am  corresponding  with 
him?" 

She  started  to  call  Parker  back,  and  tell  her  to  be  care- 
ful and  mail  it  herself,  when  she  recollected  that  the 
girl  was  always  discreet,  and  also  that  such  an  order  would 
cause  the  dear  old  servant  to  become  suspicious.  She 
dismissed  the  thought  and  determined  to  trust  to  her 
order  being  obeyed. 

Had  she  remembered  how  careful  Parker  was  not  to 
expose  her  ancient  person  out  of  doors  on  blizzardly 
nights,  she  would  have  wavered  in  her  trust. 

As  it  was,  that  good  old  servant  meekly  waited  until 
Frank  Jendcr  was  ready  to  go  home  after  a  call  he  had 
been  making  on  the  family,  and  following  him  to  the 
front  door,  slyly  asked  him  to  mail  the  letter  for  her. 

How  was  she  to  know  that  such  an  act  was  to  occasion 
the  frustrating  of  her  beloved  Fanny's  dearest  wish  ? 

Frank  Jendcr  put  the  letter  in  his  overcoat  pocket. 
By  the  time  he  had  jumped  four  or  five  mud  puddles  in  a 
wild  attempt  to  -catch  a  car,  he  had  forgotten  all  about  it. 

When  he  arrived  at  his  rooms  and  took  off  his  much 
soaked  coat,  he  noticed  it,  and  said  with  a  petulant  air  : 

"Hang  it,  there  's  Parker's  letter." 

He  took  it  out,  and  was  about  to  place  it  on  his  work 
table  to  insure  certain  notice  in  the  morning,  when  the 
address  caught  his  eye. 

"  What 's  this  ? "  he  almost  yelled,  " '  Paul  Morrison  " 


1 32  I  SWEAR. 

in  Fanny's  handwriting  !  What  can  have  come  over  the 
girl?" 

At  first  he  felt  he  ought  to  open  the  letter  and  see  if 
he  could  not  prevent  a  great  harm  being  heedlessly  done 
to  the  two  friends  he  loved  as  sisters,  but  he  at  once  dis- 
missed the  idea  as  a  breach  of  honor  too  heinous  to  be 
entertained  for  an  instant. 

"  But  I  can  forget  to  mail  it ! "  he  said  to  himself,  and 
forthwith  he  proceeded  to  put  it  in  the  fire,  so  that  he 
would  not  forget  to  forget. 

Had  he  known  how  he  was  hindering  fate  from  extri- 
cating his  two  best  loved  friends  from  their  unhappy 
entanglements,  he  would  have  preferred  putting  his 
right  hand  in  the  flame  rather  than  the  letter. 

Had  he  known  what  bitter  self-reproaches  Fanny  Nor- 
throp later  on  unnecessarily  cast  upon  herself  for  having 
been  too  warm  in  an  answer  to  a  letter  which  she  was 
made  to  feel  was  only  intended  to  be  a  friendly  one,  and 
not  intended  to  try  her  feelings  toward  him ;  had  he 
known  that  by  preventing  Morrison  from  answering  her 
letter  he  had  almost  driven  her  insane  from  shame  at 
having  twice  humbled  herself,  by  being  too  willing  to 
receive  the  approaches  of  a  man  whom  she  thought 
loved  her — he  would  have  willingly  permitted  his  whole 
right  arm  to  follow  the  hand. 

Now,  blissfully  ignorant  of  all  this,  he  thought  he  was 
preventing  a  heedless  girl  from  interfering  with  his 
beloved  Wawona's  love  affair. 


I  SWEAR.  133 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  FRANK,  I  would  like  to  see  you  in  my  library  when 
you  are  at  leisure,"  said  Amos  Northrop  to  Frank  Jen- 
der,  as  he  was  chatting  with  Fanny  and  Wawona  in  the 
"  den,"  about  a  year  and  a  half  after  the  episode  referred 
to  in  the  last  chapter. 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  Frank  said,  wondering  what  could  be 
the  occasion  for  the  unusual  request.  "  I  am  at  leisure 
now."  He  followed  the  banker  into  his  sanctum. 

"  Take  a  seat,  Frank.  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you 
on  a  very  serious  subject.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that 
Wawona  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Paul  Morri- 
son ? "  he  said,  coming  to  the  point  at  once  in  a  business 
way.  "  Have  you  any  idea  why  he  is  marrying  her  ? " 

"No,"  answered  Frank.  "  I  suppose  because  he  loves 
her." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  suppose  he  cares  for  any  one 
else  ? "  he  asked,  looking  directly  at  the  boy. 

Frank  flushed ;  he  did  not  like  to  be  a  tale-bearer  on 
Fanny.  He  determined  to  evade  the  question. 

"  I  have  never  met  Mr.  Morrison,  you  know." 

"That  is  not  an  answer  to  my  question.  This  is  too 
serious  a  matter  for  us  not  to  be  open  and  frank.  I  have 
given  my  word,  and  if  I  cannot  have  it  recalled,  I  will 
live  up  to  that  word  to  the  letter  so  long  as  I  have  life. 
What  I  want  to  know  is,  how  deep  his  interest  is  in 
Fanny  ?  And  with  what  intensity  she  responds  to  that 
interest  ? " 

Frank  reddened  as  if  he  were  making  a  confession  him- 
self. He  started  to  speak  two  or  three  times,  before  he 
finally  said : 


1 34  *  S 

"  Uncle  Amos,  I  can't  answer  that  question  without 
breaking  a  confidence." 

"  That  is  right,  Frank.  I  honor  your  principle,  but  in 
this  case  there  is  too  much  at  stake  to  stand  on  such  a 
fine  point  of  breeding  in  a  private  conference  with  the 
guardian  of  one  and  the  father  of  the  other  of  two  of  the 
interested  parties.  I  wish  you  to  tell  me  all  you  know  — 
for  I  shall  have  to  take  a  very  serious  step  in  a  few 
days." 

"Well,"  Frank  said,  after  a  little  thought,  "I  think 
Fanny  was  in  love  with  him  when  he  left,  but  that  she 
has  recovered  herself  now." 

"  Why  do  you  think  that  ? " 

"  Because—"  he  hesitated  again,  but  finally  said  :  "  I 
will  tell  you  all  I  know,  and  you  can  judge  for  yourself." 

And  forthwith  he  related  everything  :  about  the  talk 
he  had  with  her  after  her  return  from  Dover,  and  also 
about  the  letter  he  destroyed. 

"  Frank/'  the  banker  said,  when  the  young  man  had 
finished,  "  I  should  almost  feel  justified  in  opening  that 
letter  if  I  had  it  here  now." 

Then  he  studied  a  few  minutes,  as  if  trying  to  deter- 
mine upon  his  course. 

"  I  can  see  no  way  out  of  it.  I  intend  to  live  up  to  my 
word,  strictly.  I  promised  Mr.  Morrison  that  he  should 
marry  Wawona  the  day  my  guardianship  ended ;  that 
will  be  on  June  5th,  a  little  more  than  four  months  from 
now.  Wawona  still  stays  true  to  him,  is  having  her 
trousseau  made  and  so,  I  suppose,  I  can  do  nothing  else 
than  arrange  for  the  wedding.  I  desire  you  to  take  charge 
of  the  affair,  Frank,  and  carry  out  my  promises  to  the 
letter;  nothing  more,  nothing  less. 

"  I  promised  to  give  them  the  handsomest  wedding 
that  Boston  could  afford,  and  to  settle  twenty-five  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year  on  Wawona,  and  that  they  should  be 


I  SWEAR.  135 

married  the  day  my  guardianship  ceased — provided  he 
remained  in  Europe  three  years.  Arrange  all  the  details 
in  strict  compliance  with  my  promise." 

"  But  how  can  he  be  in  Europe  three  years  ? "  Frank 
asked. 

"  I  do  not  care,"  he  answered  almost  doggedly.  "  If 
Wawona  insists  on  the  marriage,  arrange  it  so  that  he 
comes  to  my  house  to  be  married  the  night  of  his  wed- 
ding, and  leaves  it  after  the  ceremony  is  performed.  My 
sister's  daughter  will  always  be  welcome  to  my  house — 
he,  never !  "  This  was  said  firmly  and  rather  harshly. 
Then  his  voice  softened  a  little,  as  he  added  : 

"  You  had  better  have  a  consultation  with  Wawona, 
and  arrange  it  as  nicely  for  her  as  you  can  ;  but  live  up 
to  my  directions  strictly,  and  see  that  he  lives  up  to  his 
promises." 

Everything  was  bustle  and  hurry  about  the  Northrop 
household  from  that  time  on. 

Wawona  could  not  understand  her  uncle,  but  gave  way 
to  his  ideas,  as  the  thought  that  she  was  marrying  con- 
trary to  his  wishes  made  her  very  miserable,  and  she  did 
not  care  to  have  him  feel  any  more  unkindly  toward  her 
than  she  could  help. 

At  Morrison's  suggestion,  she  had  prevailed  on  Frank 
to  try  to  arrange  with  her  uncle  to  have  the  wedding  a 
week  later,  so  that  the  fiancees  might  have  a  few  days  to- 
gether before  the  wedding,  but  the  old  banker  was  inex- 
orable. 

"  The  wedding  shall  take  place  exactly  as  I  promised, 
and  not  otherwise,"  he  had  said  to  Frank,  and  that  young 
gentleman  knew  by  his  tone  there  was  "  no  power  in  the 
tongue  of  man  to  alter  him." 

Ever  since  his  conversation  with  his  uncle,  Frank  had 
tried  to  have  a  talk  with  Fanny,  but  she  evaded  him  un- 
less some  third  person  was  present.  He  knew  that  she 


136 

felt  he  suspected  she  was  not  entirely  cured  of  her  inter- 
est  in  the  "black  bass." 

When  Wawona  had  asked  Fanny  to  be  a  bridesmaid  she 
had  attempted  to  excuse  herself  on  the  ground  of  super- 
stition, because  she  had  already  been  a  bridesmaid  twice 
that  year.  She  was  afraid,  she  said,  of  the  old  adage  : 
"  Thrice  a  bridesmaid,  never  a  bride."  However,  she  at 
last  consented  to  act. 

Frank  began  corresponding  with  Morrison,  and,  after 
considerable  writing  everything  was  at  last  arranged. 

Morrison  was  to  arrive  in  New  York  on  June  2d,  and 
to  come  to  Boston  on  the  evening  of  the  5th.  Mr. 
Northrop  had  been  forced  to  consent  that  he  should  be 
in  America  before  the  time  set,  but  satisfied  himself  by 
requiring,  more  strictly  than  ever,  that  he  should  not  be 
in  Boston  until  the  termination  of  his  guardianship. 

His  conditions  were  submitted  to  with  comparatively 
little  protest.  "We  can  make  up  for  lost  time  after- 
ward," Wawona  had  said. 

Finally,  one  day  about  five  weeks  before  the  wedding, 
Frank  and  Wawona  were  reading  Morrison's  unwilling 
assent  to  her  guardian's  conditions.  The  boy  suddenly 
turned  to  her  and  said  : 

"Is  n't  it  odd  that  I  have  never  seen  Mr.  Morrison, 
Wawona  ?  I  have  talked  of  him,  written  to  him,  heard 
of  him  nearly  every  day,  and  he  is  even  going  to  marry 
my  dearest  friend,  yet  I  have  never  seen  him." 

"  It  is,  is  it  not  ?  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  Wait 
one  moment ;  I  will  run  upstairs  and  get  his  last  photo- 
graph, which  he  sent  me  about  a  month  ago  from  the 
'Oaks.'" 

While  she  was  away,  Frank  had  dropped  into  a  brown 
study,  thinking  of  Fanny  and  her  feelings.  So  when  she 
handed  him  the  picture  he  at  first  glanced  at  it  absent- 
mindedly,  intending  merely  to  say,  "Thank  you,"  and 


/  SWEAR.  137 

return  it.  His  intentions  were  materially  changed  the 
instant  the  face  caught  his  eye. 

He  started;  looked  at  it  again;  this  time  took  in  the 
whole  detail ;  then  looked  down  at  the  name  of  the  pho- 
tographers to  see  if  it  had  really  been  taken  in  London. 

It  was  the  exact  picture  of  his  friend,  Paul  Cameron  ! 

"  You  are  fooling  me,  Wawona ;  this  is  not  his  pic- 
ture ? " 

"  Yes  it  is.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  Have  you  seen  him 
before  ?  "  she  asked  in  rapid  succession. 

A  flood  of  thought  came  pouring  over  his  brain.  The 
fact  that  she  had  always  said  Morrison  looked  like  her 
former  lover,  her  uneasiness  when  he  mentioned  Cam- 
eron the  day  when  Fanny  and  he  discussed  religion, 
Cameron's  uneasiness  at  the  mention  of  Wawona's  name 
that  day  in  the  laboratory — all  came  flashing  across  his 
brain. 

He  determined  to  evade  her  question  until  he  could 
have  time  to  gather  his  disconcerted  wits,  and  so  an- 
swered : 

"  I  was  only  joking,  Wawona.  He  is  a  much  hand- 
somer man  than  I  thought.  I  did  n't  know  he  wore  a 
beard." 

"He  has  grown  one  at  my  request  in  the  last  six 
months." 

Then,  to  Frank's  infinite  relief,  the  maid  came  in  and 
summoned  Miss  Brooke  to  attend  a  fitting  with  the  dress- 
maker, who  was  awaiting  her  in  the  work-room. 

"  So  this  is  the  reason  why  Mr.  Cameron  does  not  go 
into  society !  "  he  said.  "  And  I  verily  believe  he  still 
loves  her,  and  —  "  hesitating,  —  he  was  about  to  say, 
"and  she  does  him,"  when  he  determined  that  it  was  a 
problem  too  difficult  to  decide  off-hand. 

He  attempted  half  a  dozen  times  to  gather  up  courage 
enough  to  go  to  his  uncle  with  the  whole  story,  but  each 


138  /  SWEAR. 

time  found  himself  deciding  that  he  was  not  certain  of 
his  facts,  and  might  be  borrowing  trouble. 

This  was  on  his  mind  for  the  next  three  weeks.  He 
had  vaguely  determined  to  take  his  first  opportunity  to 
question  Cameron,  and  find  out  if  he  was  in  reality  the 
old  lover,  for  whom  he  felt  certain  Wawona  had  a  linger- 
ing fondness. 

The  preparations  for  the  wedding,  however,  kept  him 
so  busy  that  he  had  been  unable  to  find  time  enough  to 
make  the  attempt. 

One  evening,  happening  to  be  out  at  Cambridge,  he 
suddenly  came  across  Cameron.  The  resemblance  to 
the  photograph  was  most  striking,  the  expression,  the 
eyes,  the  beard  —  everything  the  same;  not  a  detail 
missing. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Frank  ?  Why  are  you  staring  at 
me  in  that  way  ?  "  Cameron  finally  asked  him. 

"  Oh,  nothing  ;  was  I  staring  at  you  ?  "  Jender  replied, 
trying  to  appear  innocent,  as  he  suddenly  realized  that 
he  must  be  very  discreet  in  his  inquiries  or  their  intent 
would  be  misinterpreted. 

"You  see,  I  have  so  much  on  my  mind  at  present,  I 
hardly  know  what  I  am  doing.  By  the  way,  I  am  going 
to  insist  on  your  coming  to  a  party  at  my  uncle's  house 
in  a  week  or  so." 

Had  Frank  suddenly  offered  to  shoot  his  friend  he 
could  not  have  created  greater  disturbance  in  the  poor 
fellow's  mind.  He  blushed,  became  nervous,  and  finally 
stammered  : 

"  No,  Frank ;  really,  I  cannot,"  he  said  nervously,  and 
interjectedly  added,  as  he  blindly  groped  from  one  excuse 
to  another,  "you  see,  I  have  not  been  in  society  for  so 
long  I  could  not ;  besides,  I  would  have  to  shave  my 
beard.  And  then,  I  have  not  been  invited." 

A  happy  thought  came  to  Frank.     It  almost  took  him 


I  SWEAR.  139 

off  his  feet.  He  would  have  danced  for  joy  had  he  been 
alone — the  problem  was  solved!  It  all  flashed  across 
him  in  an  instant.  He  must  get  Cameron  at  the  wed- 
ding with  his  beard  unshaven  ;  and  then,  if  Wawona  was 
actually  in  love  with  him,  she  would,  of  course,  postpone 
the  marriage  with  Morrison.  No, — he  must  have  him 
see  Wawona  before  the  wedding. 

This  decision  arrived  at,  he  determined  to  defer  fur- 
ther experiments  till  he  could  have  an  opportunity  to 
decide  upon  the  detail  of  his  plan,  so  he  answered : 

"  Oh,  you  will  be  invited.  I  am  master  of  ceremo- 
nies." 

Frank  resolved  to  develop  a  new  line  of  conversation,  in 
order  to  gain  the  necessary  time  for  formulating  his  plan 
of  action,  but  before  he  could  do  so,  Cameron  asked : 

"  Are  you  going  to  neglect  your  work  entirely,  Frank  ? '' 

"  Oh,  no,  I  will  be  back  at  work,  and  all  the  more  en- 
thusiastic when  I  have  this  little  affair  off  my  hands. 
But  I  must  return  to  town.  Good  night." 

He  could  not  get  the  thought  out  of  his  head,  that  his 
two  idols  loved  each  other ;  and  he,  powerless  little-hero 
worshiper  that  he  was,  was  one  of  the  instruments  mak- 
ing preparations  for  his  heroine  to  marry  another. 

He  dared  not  discuss  the  affair  with  his  uncle.  He  was 
afraid  to  approach  Wawona.  He  was  not  absolutely  cer- 
tain that  Cameron  would  give  up  his  ambition  for  his 
love.  So  all  that  seemed  left  for  him  to  do  was  to  bring 
them  together  the  night  of  the  wedding,  and  see  if  their 
meeting  would  not  cause  Wawona  to  feel  she  was  mar- 
rying the  wrong  man. 

"  But  will  Cameron  come  ?  That  is  the  next  problem," 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  entered  the  Northrop  mansion. 
"  I  '11  fix  that.  I  '11  ask  Wawona  to  write  a  personal  in- 
vitation to  a  friend  of  mine,  without  letting  her  know  who 
he  is." 


i4o  /  SWEAR. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AT  length  all  is  finished,  and  in  readiness  for  the  cer- 
emony. 

It  is  to  be  a  home  affair.  Frank  has  everything  well 
in  hand,  and  is  radiant  over  the  success  of  his  plans. 

He  has  developed  a  scheme  which  he  feels  certain  is 
going  to  bring  Cameron  and  Wawona  together  the  night 
of  the  wedding. 

He  had  prevailed  upon  Wawona  to  write  a  personal 
invitation  to  an  unnamed  friend  for  him,  saying  :  "  Frank 
has  spoken  of  you  so  often,  I  cannot  but  follow  his  sug- 
gestion, and  insist  that  you  be  present  a  week  from 
Thursday  night.  Every  one  will  see  that  you  are  made 
perfectly  at  home." 

Frank  had  dictated  it  in  order  to  be  absolutely  certain 
that  she  would  not  say  anything  about  it  as  a  wedding. 

He  had  already  given  Mr.  Cameron  the  idea  that  it 
was  to  be  merely  a  party  ;  for  he  feared  that  if  his  in- 
structor knew  it  was  to  be  the  wedding  of  his  former 
love,  it  would  interfere  with  the  possibilities  of  his  ro- 
mantic little  plot. 

He  had  very  cleverly  persuaded  Cameron  to  promise 
to  go  to  the  party,  and  also  to  permit  him  to  arrange  for 
his  dress  suit.  Frank  had  induced  him  to  have  his  beard 
trimmed  in  English  style,  in  exact  imitation  of  the  pic- 
ture of  Morrison  which  Wawona  had  shown  him.  After- 
ward, he  had  gone  with  him  to  the  tailor  to  see  him  try 
on  his  dress  suit. 

The  impulsive  boy  could  scarcely  restrain  himself  from 
telling  him  his  plans  when  he  saw  him  dressed,  and  he 
felt  assured  that  had  Wawona  but  a  chance  to  see  him  as 


2  SWEAR.  141 

he  did,  no  one  could  win  her  from  the  man  he  felt  she 
really  loved. 

There  was  one  of  the  household  whose  actions  troubled 
Frank  exceedingly.  That  one  was  Fanny.  She  had  not 
been  herself  for  the  past  month,  and  for  the  last  few 
days  he  had  noticed  that  she  almost  openly  avoided  him. 
He  determined  several  times  to  question  her  about  the 
matter ;  but,  in  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  the  wedding  prep? 
arations,  he  found  no  opportunity.  He  remembered  noticT 
ing  in  Fanny  a  tendency  to  hesitate,  when  Mr.  Nor- 
throp suggested  that  he  and  Fanny  should  stand  up 
with  the  bride  and  groom  during  the  ceremony.  But 
something  else  came  up  to  distract  his  mind,  and  it  was 
forgotten. 

Frank  tried  several  times  to  induce  Mr.  Northrop  to 
relent,  and  reconsider  his  determination  not  to  allow  the 
groom  to  come  to  the  house  till  the  night  of  the  wed- 
ding, because  this  interfered  with  the  possibility  of  bring- 
ing Wawona  face  to  face  with  Cameron  before  the  time 
for  the  ceremony,  but  the  stern  old  banker  steadfastly 
adhered  to  his  first  proposition,  to  stand  strictly  to  his 
agreement  of  three  years  before. 


The  eventful  night  arrived.  Frank  felt  that  everything 
was  going  well,  and  he  was  happy  in  the  idea  that  his 
plan  to  bring  Wawona  and  Mr.  Cameron  together  gave 
such  good  hopes  for  success. 

His  arrangements  were  perfected  even  to  the  minutest 
detail,  and  he  had  been  to  report  to  Mr.  Northrop  at  7 
o'clock. 

The  groom  was  to  arrive  at  the  house  at  8.30 ;  the  cer- 
emony was  to  be  performed  at  9  o'clock  sharp.  The  bride 
and  groom  were  to  take  the  Shore  Line  for  New  York  at 
10:30,  and  from  there  an  extended  trip  through  the  West. 


i42  I  SWEAR. 

Mr.  Northrop  approved  the  plans. 

"There,  Frank,"  he  said,  handing  the  boy  a  check,  "is 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars  for  Wawona's  first  year.  The 
agreement  for  the  balance  is  in  this  envelope.  The  wed- 
ding ring  is  there  in  that  box.  I  am  proud  of  the  way 
you  have  arranged  this  affair,  and  when  you  are  married 
I  will  do  even  more  for  you.  There  is  one  thing  more  I 
must  ask  of  you,  and  that  is,  insist  that  everything  shall 
be  exactly  on  time.  Remember,  with  me  9  o'clock  means 
exactly  sixty  minutes  after  8  o'clock." 

"Never  fear,  uncle,"  Frank  replied,  pleased  with  his 
uncle's  commendation ;  "  I  understand  the  ruling  pas- 
sion of  your  life,  and  you  shall  not  be  disappointed  to- 
night " — "  unless  Wawona  has  sense  enough  to  see  that 
Paul  Cameron  is  the  man  she  really  loves,  and  not  Paul 
Morrison,"  he  added  to  himself. 

Little  did  he  think  that  his  subsequent  conduct  was 
to  be  the  means  of  driving  his  uncle  almost  insane  from 
his  delay  in  management.  Fate,  fickle  dame  that  she  is, 
often  makes  us  most  sure  of  ourselves  just  before  she 
gives  some  particular  example  of  her  fickleness. 

As  it  was,  Frank  hastened  down  to  instruct  Job,  the 
family  coachman,  to  call  at  the  Vendome  for  his  friend 
Cameron,  who  had  taken  rooms  there  over  night.  Then 
he  turned  to  give  final  instructions  to  the  servants  con- 
cerning the  arrangements  for  the  groom's  reception. 

Scarcely  had  the  carriage  left  when  Parker  came  to 
him  with  a  most  distressed  look  on  her  usually  placid  face. 

"  Mr.  Jender,  I  want  to  see  you  a  moment,  please,  sir," 
she  said  in  an  unsteady  voice. 

"Yes,  in  a  second."  Frank  replied  somewhat  sharp- 
ly, for  he  was  too  busy  to  talk  to  servants,  and  had  not 
noticed  her  manner. 

His  mind  was  entirely  occupied  trying  to  develop  some 


/  SWEAR.  143 

plan  by  which  Wawona  could  have  a  few  moments  with 
Cameron  before  the  arrival  of  the  groom. 

"  No,  now,  this  instant,"  said  Parker  nervously,  "  this 
is  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  Quick  !  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  her  tone.  Frank  saw  that  she 
was  almost  white  with  excitement. 

"What  is  it,  Parker?" 

Then,  fearing  her  excited  manner  might  cause  the  other 
servants  to  notice  them,  and  expecting  there  was  some- 
thing private  to  be  revealed,  he  said  : 

"  Come  into  the  library  here,  and  explain." 

"There,"  she  began  as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  hand- 
ing him  a  note  in  Fanny's  handwriting,  "  read  that.  I 
think  it  will  explain  all.  Miss  Fanny  told  me  not  to  give 
it  to  you  until  just  before  the  ceremony,  but  I  think  there 
is  something  wrong,  for  she  has  gone  off  with  the  phae- 
ton and  I  think  she  is  almost  crazy,  so  I  came  to  you 
now." 

A  thousand  conjectures  shot  through  his  mind,  and 
made  him  so  nervous  that  he  could  scarcely  tear  the  en- 
velope open.  He  read  : 

"  DEAR  FRANK  : 

"  You  are  the  only  one  who  knows  my  feelings  in  this 
matter.  I  cannot  see  him  wedded  to  another.  Make 
what  explanations  you  can  for  me.  God  knows  what  I 
shall  do— I  do  not.  For  every  one's  sake,  never  let  any- 
body know  why  I  do  this.  Good -by. 

"  FANNY." 

"  Do  what  ?"  he  thought,  as  he  turned  to  the  maid, 

and  asked  excitedly, 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Parker,  what  does  this  mean  ? " 
"  I  do  not  know,  sir ;  she  has  not  been  herself  for  the 

past  two  weeks.     Today  she  has  been  crying  as  though 


I44 

her  poor  heart  would  break.  For  the  last  hour  she's 
been  sobbing  and  talking  of  drowning  and  her  grand- 
mother's cottage  at  Swamscot,  I  'm  afraid  there  is  some- 
thing wrong." 

Frank  knew  that  Fanny  had  been  in  the  habit  of  driv- 
ing down  to  the  beach  close  by  a  cottage  in  which  her 
grandmother  lived,  and  remembering  that  she  was  thor- 
oughly familiar  with  this  road,  he  felt  that  it  would  prob- 
ably be  the  first  place  her  thoughts  would  suggest  in 
case  she,  in  her  hysterical  mood,  contemplated  suicide 
by  drowning. 

All  this  flashed  through  his  mind,  and  he  turned  to 
Parker,  saying  : 

"  How  long  has  she  been  gone  ?  " 

"  Only  about  five  minutes.  I  came  to  you  as  soon  as 
I  was  sure  she  was  going." 

"  What  shall  I  do  !  "  he  exclaimed,  almost  beside  him- 
self. "  I  must  explain  this  matter  to  uncle." 

He  rushed  to  his  uncle's  library,  but  found  he  had 
gone  to  his  barber.  He  must  go  without  seeing  him. 
He  rushed  back  to  Parker. 

"Do  not,"  he  said,  "let  uncle  know  anything  about 
this  note  or  this  affair.  Tell  him  I  have  received  a  tel- 
egram about  some  business  which  must  be  attended  to 
at  once,  that  Fanny  has  gone  with  me,  and  that  I  said 
if  I  did  not  return  in  time,  to  let  the  wedding  proceed 
without  me.  Tell  him  the  arrangements  are  all  perfect." 

As  he  buttoned  up  his  overcoat  he  hurriedly  asked : 

"You  are  sure  she  started  for  Swamscot  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

He  bolted  for  the  stable. 

"  Saddle  me  Miss  Northrop's  horse ! "  he  shouted  to 
the  boy,  who  was  almost  speechless  with  surprise.  As 
soon  as  the  mystified  young  hostler  had  the  animal  sad- 


I  SWEAR.  145 

died,  Frank  galloped  away  on  the  fleetest  horse  the  stable 
contained. 

What  a  change  in  his  plans  the  last  five  minutes  had 
made! 

Here  he  was  on  a  wild  chase  for  a  bridesmaid  at  the 
very  time  he  hoped  to  be  uniting  two  of  his  best  friends 
in  the  face  of  adverse  fate. 

He  little  suspected  that  he  was  a  powerful  agent  in 
accomplishing  this  end,  despite  his  journey.  His  very- 
absence  was  doing  more  than  his  best  laid  schemes  could 
have  done. 

Mr.  Northrop  was  almost  livid  with  rage  when  he 
returned  and  found  Frank  gone. 

The  banker  realized  at  once  that  he  must  take  the 
affair  into  his  own  hands,  or  that  matters  would  not 
come  off  on  time. 

The  hobby  of  his  life  was  punctuality,  and  he  hastily 
determined  that  he  was  not  to  be  disconcerted  by  the 
waywardness  of  a  boy. 

So  excited  was  he,  that  when  a  messenger  boy  arrived 
with  a  telegram  for  Jender,  he  dictatorially  ordered  the 
servant  to  take  it  to  the  room  set  apart  for  Frank  as 
master  of  ceremonies,  not  thinking  it  might  be  of  impor- 
tance concerning  the  wedding.  He  probably  would  have 
been  less  dictatorial  and  less  hasty,  and  undoubtedly 
more  phlegmatic  and  irascible,  had  he  read  the  contents. 

"  Train  delayed  40  minutes  ;  hold  the  ceremony.  Love 
to  Wawona.  PAUL  MORRISON." 

Not  knowing  this,  however,  when  he  saw  the  family 
carriage  drive  up  and  Mr.  Cameron  alight,  he  at  once 
made  up  his  mind  it  was  the  groom. 

He  hastily  determined  to  receive  him  warmly,  so  the 


i46  /  S  WEAR. 

outside  world  should  never  know,  except  by  conjecture, 
that  he  and  his  ward's  husband  were  estranged. 

Acting  under  this  impulse,  he  stepped  forward,  grasped 
Cameron's  hand,  and  said  : 

"  Welcome  to  our  home.  Wawona  will  be  with  you  in 
a  few  moments." 

"  Thank  you,"  Cameron  answered,  somewhat  mystified 
as  he  thought :  "  Well,  they  are  making  me  at  home, 
aren't  they?" 

How  his  thoughts  would  have  changed  had  he  realized 
that  he  was  masquerading  as  his  English  cousin. 

"  Here,  Charley,"  the  banker  said,  addressing  the  near- 
est servant,  "  Show  the  gentleman  to  the  boudoir  off 
Miss  Wawona's  room." 

Then  again  addressing  Cameron  somewhat  stiffly  : 

"  I  will  join  you  as  soon  as  I  have  arranged  matters 
down  stairs." 

Cameron  had  not  noticed  the  coldness  in  the  last  re- 
mark, for  his  mind  was  busy  with  the  odd  turn  affairs 
were  taking  with  him. 

"To  the  boudoir  of  her  room  !  Well,  they  are  'making 
me  at  home '  with  a  vengeance.  I  wonder  where  Frank 
is  ?  I  had  no  idea  this  was  tq  be  such  a  grand  affair  as 
these  decorations  indicate.  Frank  told  me  it  was  to  be 
only  a  little  party." 

His  surprise  was  increased  when  he  was  ushered  into 
a  large,  handsomely  furnished  boudoir,  evidently  intend- 
ed for  one  person  alone.  He  had  noticed  that  the  ser- 
vant had  passed  the  general  dressing  room  for  gentlemen, 
and  had  ushered  him  into  this  apartment,  so  he  evidently 
was  that  person. 

He  fancied  he  had  detected  announcements  in  under- 
tones from  several  of  the  guests  whom  he  passed,  "  That 's 
he,  that 's  he,"  and  altogether  he  began  to  feel  uncom- 
fortably certain  that  he  was  being  made  a  lion  of. 


I  SWEAR.  147 

Down  stairs  Mr.  Northrop  was  trying  to  arrange  mat- 
ters without  Frank's  assistance,  and  found  so  many  little 
things  unattended  to,  that  he  was  almost  distracted. 

The  fear  had  come  over  him  that  the  ceremony  was 
not  going  to  be  on  time. 

His  nervousness  increased  suddenly,  as  he  thought  of 
the  allowance  which  he  had  made  to  Wawona,  and  the 
annuity  and  wedding  ring  which  he  remembered  to  have 
given  to  Frank  as  master  of  ceremonies. 

He  rushed  to  Frank's  room  to  look  for  them,  but  did 
not  find  them. 

He  then  thought  of  Fanny,  and  started  to  her  room  to 
see  if  she  could  tell  him  anything  of  them.  Then,  for 
the  first  time,  he  learned  she,  too,  was  to  disappoint 
them,  and  not  be  at  the  wedding.  Parker  had  stoically 
faced  the  music,  and  told  him  that  she  had  gone  with 
Frank. 

By  this  time  the  banker  was  furious. 

He  had  no  time  to  ask  further  questions  ;  it  was  now 
^o°4C2  and  he  had  not  found  the  papers. 

T    ;t  of  the  guests  had  arrived,  and  everything  but  the 
papers,  the  ring,  and  Frank  and  Fanny  were  ready. 

He  was  growing  more  nervous  each  instant. 

As  a  last  resort,  he  determined  to  try  the  library, 
where  he  had  handed  the  packages  to  Frank,  and  as  luck 
would  have  it,  there  they  were,  where  he  had  placed  them 
while  talking  with  his  nephew. 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  had  almost  regained  his 
composure,  when  another  thought  suddenly  came  to  him. 

"  Frank  and  Fanny  are  both  gone.  I  must  make  some 
'new  arrangements  for  the  wedding  ceremony.  Where  is 
#hc  minister  ? " 

He  sent  the  first  servant  he  could  reach  to  ask  the 
clergyman  to  meet  him  in  his  office. 

Then  he  looked  at  his  watch:  8.52.     Would  he  never 


148  /  SWEAR. 

come  ?    The  ten   seconds  required  for  the  minister  toi 
reach  his  office  seemed  to  him  an  are. 

"Mr.  Wellington,  some  very  important  matters  have 
taken  my  nephew  to  town.    I  have,  therefore,  determined 
to  have  no  best  man  or  bridesmaid,  and  we  will  have  to^ 
make  some  new  arrangements.     You  will  proceed  with-- 
out  them,"  he  said  hastily. 

"  But,  where  is  the  marriage  license  ? " 

"  Have  n't  you  got  it  ? "  almost  shrieked  the  banker. 

"No,"  answered  the  minister ;  "your  nephew  had  it.''] 

"Wait  right  here.  I  will  see  if  it  is  about  the  house,"i 
cried  the  infuriated  banker,  as  he  rushed  out  to  make  in- 
quiries of  Parker,  Charley,  and  everyone  else  from  whomi 
he  thought  he  might  be  able  to  get  the  least  information  ;j 
but  all  his  inquiries  were  without  result. 

By  the  time  he  returned  to  the  minister  he  was  the"' 
personification  of  nervousness. 

"  I  cannot  find  it,  but  I  am  absolutely  certain  there 
was  one  issued.     Can  you  not  marry  them  without  it  & 
The  names  of  the  parties,  as  you  know,  are  Paul  Morri-* 
son  and  Wawona  Brooke.  ' 

The  reverend  gentleman  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then, 
saic?  with  a  calmness  which  acted  as  a  severe  irritant  to 
the  already  thoroughly  irritated  banker  : 

"  I  can  marry  them  :  but  there  may  be  some  doubts  as 
to  the  legality." 

"  Legality  !  "  the  banker  stormed,  "  I  can  arrange  that. 
You  give  each  of  the  parties  a  little  book,  do  you  not, 
signed  by  yourself  ? " 

"  Yes,"  unctuously  and  slowly  answered  the  minister, 
fc  containing  the  creed  and  obligations  taken  at  the  mar- 
riage." 

"Well,"  said  the  banker,  growing  more  impatient  every 
second,  "  we  will  have  a  marriage  by  contract,  in  addition 
to  the  ceremony.  You  can  write  in  each  copy  a  short; 


I  SWEAR.  149 

contract,  'We  hereby  mutually  agree  to  become  man 
and  wife,'  or  something  like  that.  We  can  attend  to  that 
matter  after  the  ceremony.  As  it  is,  you  meet  the  couple 
under  the  marriage  bell,  and  commence  the  ceremony  as 
soon  as  they  are  in  position,  so  that  the  absence  of  best 
man  and  bridesmaid  will  not  be  noticed." 

He  hesitated,  then  looked  at  his  watch,  and  found  to 
his  horror  that  it  was  fifty-four  seconds  to  nine  ! 

"I  see  it  is  the  appointed  time,"  he  remarked,  and 
added  as  he  rushed  out  of  the  door,  "  take  your  position, 
and  instruct  the  orchestra  to  commence  the  wedding 
march.  I  will  go  for  the  bride  and  groom  ;  I  fear  we  are 
late." 

The  commanding  tone  almost  took  the  breath  away 
from  the  reverend  gentleman,  but  he  hastened  to  comply 
with  the  request. 

The  uppermost  thought  in  the  troubled  banker's  brain 
was,  that  for  once  in  his  life  he  must  acknowledge  de- 
feat of  his  ruling  passion  —  this  wedding  was  going  to  be 
late ! 

He  would  have  run  up  stairs  to  summon  the  bride  and 
groom,  had  he  not  realized  that  he  was  the  focus  of  the 
eyes  of  the  assembled  "four  hundred "  of  Boston. 

As  it  was,  he  made  the  most  rapid  ascent  up  the  broad 
front  stairs  that  his  years  and  dignity  would  permit. 

In  the  meantime,  Cameron  had  first  wandered  around 
the  boudoir,  studying  over  the  developments  of  the  first 
five  minutes  of  his  second  advent  into  society  life,  a  life 
which  he  had  imagined  to  be  shut  out  for  him  forever. 

"  Why  in  the  world  does  not  Frank  appear  ? "  he 
thought ;  and  then  returned  to  wondering  what  Mr. 
Northrop  meant  when  he  said,  "  Wawona  will  be  with 
you  in  a  few  moments." 

Had  he  known  that,  with  his  full  beard  and  dress  suit, 
he  was  the  exact  image  of  Paul  Morrison,  he  might  have 


150  I  SWEAR. 

understood  the  importance  of  his  position,  and  been  able 
also  to  have  prevented  himself  and  the  woman  whom  he 
had  loved  in  secret  ever  since  they  parted  five  years  be- 
fore, from  being  actors  in  a  series  of  misunderstandings. 

In  his  nervousness  he  had  gone  to  a  large  mirror  over 
the  mantel,  and  was  fingering  his  mustache,  when,  to  his 
surprise,  he  noticed  the  reflection  of  the  handsome  por- 
tiere in  the  mirror  quickly  open,  and  then  saw  the  charm- 
ing face  of  her  with  whom  his  heart  had  been  buried  so 
long  appear,  radiant  with  smiles.  She  saw  him  turn,  and 
of  course  thought  him  his  cousin,  her  husband  about  to 
be,  the  one  from  whom  her  uncle's  unhappy  whims  had 
separated  her  for  the  last  three  years. 

"  There  you  are ! "  she  said,  as  she  ran  forward  and 
threw  both  arms  around  his  neck,  in  an  abandon  of  affec- 
tion she  had  never  permitted  herself  before. 

He  realized  that  the  reception  was  one  of  altogether 
too  much  warmth  to  be  an  ordinary  greeting. 

Immediately  there  followed  the  memory  of  the  im- 
pressions he  had  gotten  from  his  conversation  with  Frank 
Jender  that  day  in  the  laboratory. 

His  suspicions  of  that  time  were  confirmed,  and  he 
thought : 

"  She  loves  me  still." 

He  hardly  knew  what  to  do.  The  ecstacy  of  the 
thought  so  took  possession  of  him  he  could  hardly  think. 

Wawona  did  not  know  how  to  interpret  the  absence 
of  response  to  her  affectionate  greeting. 

"Why  don't  you  kiss  me  ? "  she  said. 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  he  asked,  half  frightened  at  himself. 

"  Of  course ;  I  have  not  seen  you  for  so  long,"  she 
answered,  drawing  herself  still  closer  to  him. 

"Oh,  Paul,  it  seems  a  century  since  you  kissed  me 
last ! " 

"  And  to  me,  too,"  he  said,  thinking  of  that  iast  kiss 


I  SWEAR.  151 

on  the  train  at  Springfield,  as  he  proceeded  to  act  upon 
the  desire  of  both. 

After  they  had  silently  expressed  themselves  passion- 
ately several  times,  she  turned,  and  with,  as  he  realized, 
the  sweetest  tones  a  voice  could  utter,  asked  him  : 

"  And  have  you  found  no  one  in  this  long  separation 
you  care  for  more  than  me  ? " 

"  Absolutely  none,"  he  answered  earnestly.  "  You  are, 
and,  ever  since  our  last  kiss  have  been,  my  life,  my  heart, 
my  only  thought."  Immediately  he  returned  to  the  oc- 
cupation which  both  of  them  had  found  so  pleasant  a 
few  seconds  before. 

"  And  I  love  you  more  than  all  the  world  could  tell," 
she  answered.  "  If  the  thought  of  affection  for  another 
should  come  to  me,  one  look  at  your  face  would  dispel 
all." 

Again  they  smothered  themselves  in  an  embrace. 

After  a  little  she  disengaged  herself  sufficiently  to  say : 

"  You  have  been  wonderfully  good  not  to  make  any 
objections  to  the  peculiarity  of  this  affair.  Now,  for  my 
sake,  promise  me  you  will  be  patient,  no  matter  what 
happens  tonight ;  promise  me  you  will  not  worry  uncle. 
You  will  bear  with  all  his  brusque  ways  for  my  sake, 
won't  you,  dear  ? " 

Cameron  hardly  understood  her,  but  promised.  Truth 
to  tell,  at  that  moment  he  would  have  promised  her  any- 
thing. Then  he  drew  her  to  him  again,  and  was  about 
to  say  :  "It  seems  so  strange  that  we  should  have  been 
within  ten  miles  of  each  other  for  the  last  five  years,  and 
neither  know  the  other's  feelings,"  when  Mr.  Northrop 
burst  into  the  room. 

"  Here ! "  he  said  ;  "  excuse  me,  Wawona ;  I  suppose  I 
should  have  knocked,  but  everything  seems  to  have  gone 
wrong.  Frank  and  Fanny  cannot  be  found,  and  every- 
thing has  been  left  on  my  hands  at  the  last  moment. 


152  I  SWEAR. 

We  are  already  late,  and  all  our  friends  are  talking  about 
it.  Take  Mr.  Morrison's  arm,  and  follow  me."  As  he 
said  this,  he  half  led,  half  pushed  them  into  the  hall. 

Cameron  was  so  surprised  that  he  hardly  knew  what 
he  was  doing. 

He  thought  Mr.  Northrop  had  addressed  him  as  "Mor- 
rison," but  the  situation,  the  bustle,  in  fact  everything 
alike,  precluded  present  explanation,  and  the  first  thing 
he  really  definitely  knew  was,  that  he  was  going  down  the 
broad  front  stairway  with  Wawona  on  his  arm.  The  next 
was,  that  he  was  entering  the  parlor,  and  marching  up  to 
an  awaiting  minister,  with  an  orchestra  playing  "  Men- 
delssohn's Wedding  March." 

In  an  instant  the  whole  position  flashed  across  his 
mind.  He  was  to  be  married  to  Wawona. 

What  did  it  mean  ?  Was  this  what  Wav/ona  meant 
when  she  made  him  promise  to  be  patient  no  matter 
what  happened  ? 

It  was  the  dearest  wish  of  his  life  ;  but  how  suddenly 
and  strangely  brought  about.  He  found  no  time  to  col- 
lect his  scattered  thoughts.  Of  course  Wawona  had 
declared  she  loved  him.  He  loved  her. 

What  could  he  do  ?  Everything,  everybody  was  ready ; 
in  fact,  the  minister  had  prepared  to  proceed. 

He  tried  to  prevent  his  erratic  fancies  from  cloud- 
ing his  mind,  and  to  collect  his  ideas  in  order  to  be  able 
to  act.  Before  he  could  do  so,  the  minister,  in  a  calm, 
resolute  voice,  began  the  ceremony,  and  Cameron  found 
himself  mechanically  repeating  after  him  :  "  I,  Paul,  take 
thee,  Wawona,  to  be  my  wedded  wife,  to  have  and  to  hold 
from  this  day  forth." 

And  almost  immediately  after  heard  his  beloved  repeat : 

"  I,  Wawona,  take  thee,  Paul,  to  be  my  wedded  hus- 
band, to  have  and  to  hold — " 

Then  he  found  himself  slipping  a  ring,  furnished  by 


I  SWEAR.  153 

the  minister,  on  Wawona's  finger,  and  saying  :  "  With 
all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow." 

He  made  a  mighty  effort  to  clear  his  brain  while  the 
minister  was  pronouncing  the  benediction,  but  found 
himself  too  dumbfounded  to  act,  to  remember  anything, 
almost  that  he  was  expected  to  kiss  his  bride  and  be  con- 
gratulated. 

He  heard  the  minister's  voice  say  :  "  May  you  so  live 
together  in  this  life  that  in  the  world  to  come  you  may 
have  life  everlasting,"  and  summoned  up  courage  enough 
to  turn  to  Wawona  to  kiss  her.  He  noticed  she  was  un- 
usually pale. 

As  he  leaned  over,  he  heard  her  say,  tremblingly : 

"  Catch  me  ;  I  am  faint !  " 

Instantly  all  was  confusion. 

Assisted  by  the  minister  and  Mr.  Northrop,  he  led  his 
bride  to  the  library,  where  Parker,  Mrs.  Matthews,  and 
several  lady  friends  took  charge,  and  loosened  her  dress. 

"  It  is  merely  a  faint,"  Mrs.  Matthews  said,  "  the  ex- 
citement has  been  too  much  for  her." 

Mr.  Northrop  seized  the  opportunity  to  take  the  sup- 
posed Morrison  to  one  side. 

Cameron  started  to  explain  himself,  but  was  prevented 
by  the  banker,  who  said : 

"  I  have  all  the  papers  ready  for  Wawona's  annuity  ; 
the  minister  is  preparing  the  contracts  now." 

Then  he  suddenly  seemed  to  have  caught  an  idea. 

"  But  where  are  your  traveling  traps.  I  have  the  draw- 
ing room  engaged  for  the  10 : 30  train." 

"  Traveling  traps  ? "  asked  Cameron. 

Then  suddenly  thinking,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  must  take  a  bridal 
tour,"  he  answered  somewhat  stammeringly  : 

"They  are  at  my  apartments.  Frank  forgot  to  tell 
me  about  that.  I  have  not  packed  them  yet." 


154  1  SWEAR. 

Then  resolution  came  to  him,  and  he  determined  to 
make  an  explanation  of  his  suspicions. 

"  Mr.  Northrop,  I  fear  there  is  some  mistake  in  this  mat- 
ter ;  permit — " 

"  Of  course,  there  is  some  mistake,"  interrupted  the 
banker.  "  You  must  have  your  traps.  There  has  been 
enough  delay  already.  The  train  goes  at  10:30  sharp. 
It  is  now  9:16;  I  will  send  for  the  carriage  at  once." 

"Here,"  he  called  to  a  passing  servant,  "  run  up  stairs 
to  the  spare  boudoir,  and  bring  this  gentleman  his  hat  and 
coat." 

Turning  again  to  Cameron  he  hastily  said  : 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,  while  I  order  the  carriage." 

Off  he  dashed,  leaving  the  poor  fellow  with  his  already 
muddled  brain  in  a  complete  whirl. 

The  servant  came  down  with  his  hat  and  coat,  and  he 
mechanically  permitted  him  to  put  them  on  for  him. 

Hardly  had  he  done  so  when  the  bustling,  troubled 
host  appeared. 

"  The  carriage  is  all  ready.  You  must  hurry,  or  you 
will  be  late.  Come,  quick." 

With  that  he  half  pushed,  half  led  him  to  the  carriage. 
Cameron  told  him,  how  he  hardly  knew,  that  his  rooms 
were  at  the  Vendome. 

"  Take  Mr.  Morrison  to  the  Vendome  at  once,  and  get 
him  back  here  for  the  10:30  Shore  train,"  Cameron  heard 
Mr.  Northrop  command  the  driver  as  he  closed  the  door. 

He  thought  he  was  certain  of  the  "  Morrison "  this 
time.  This  confirmed  his  former  half-conceived  suspicion 
that  he  had  been  mistaken  for  his  cousin. 

He  attempted  to  open  the  door  and  explain  the  matter 
to  Mr.  Northrop ;  but  the  carriage  had  already  started, 
and  the  banker,  half  distracted  on  account  of  the  many 
delays,  had  entered  the  house,  and  Job  was  driving  pell- 


I  SWEAR.  155 

mell  for  the  hotel.  Then  there  came  a  doubt  about 
whether  or  not  he  had  actually  heard  aright. 

He  thought  it  very  strange  Frank  should  have  acted 
as  he  did,  and  had  about  made  up  his  mind  that  possibly 
Frank,  knowing  of  his  love  for  Wawona,  had  arranged 
this  plan  to  bring  them  together. 

Then  again  he  remembered  to  have  been  mistaken  by 
strangers  at  other  times  for  his  cousin,  Paul  Morrison. 

He  sat  there  through  that  wild  drive,  trying  to  deter- 
mine whether  the  peculiar  transactions  of  the  last  hour 
were  wholly  due  to  the  similarity  in  appearance  of  his 
cousin  and  himself,  or  if  he  had  in  reality  been  married 
to  his  old  love,  for  himself. 

Before  he  could  solve  the  problem  the  carriage  pulled 
up  at  the  Vendome,  and  Job,  looking  at  his  watch,  oracu- 
larly said  : 

"  Sure,  sir,  I  don't  think  you  can  make  the  10:30,  you 
better  take  the  11:30.  I  think,  sir,  I'd  better  go  back 
and  tell  Mr.  Northrop  you  've  changed  your  mind,  and 
you  can  take  a  cab  back  when  you  're  ready." 

Cameron  was  too  much  engrossed  in  thought  to  put  in 
any  objections. 

"Certainly  ;  all  right  ;  make  it  11:30." 

He  mechanically  went  to  the  office  for  his  key,  took 
the  elevator,  and  after  arriving  at  his  room,  deliberately 
sat  down  and  pinched  himself,  to  see  that  he  was  not  in 
a  dream. 

At  first  he  made  up  his  mind  he  would  not  go  back, 
and  then  he  determined  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to 
return  to  the  house  and  force  the  nervous  banker  to  take 
sufficient  time  for  an  explanation,  and  then  find  out  if 
he  had  really  been  married.  After  this  determination, 
he  coolly  packed  what  few  things  he  had  at  hand,  and 
prepared  to  return  to  the  office. 


i56  I  SWEAR. 

At  once  the  thought  came  to  him  :  "  Where  is  the 
house  ? " 

Frank  had  sent  the  family  carriage  for  him,  and  he 
had  never  been  there  alone.  He  consulted  the  direc- 
tory. 

"  Amos  Northrop,  President  Fifth  National  Bank,  res. 
Northrop  Hall,  Chester  Park." 

The  next  question  was,  "Where  is  Northrop  Hall, 
Chester  Park  ? " 

The  hotel  clerk  was  a  new  arrival  and  did  not  know. 

No  more  did  the  cabman  whom  the  hotel  clerk  called, 
but  he  thought  he  could  find  out  at  the  head  office. 

The  only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  drive  to  the  head 
office.  There  he  obtained  directions. 

Cameron  glanced  at  his  watch.     It  was  10:25. 

The  clerk  at  the  cab  office  told  him  it  was  a  twenty 
minutes'  drive  to  the  Northrop  mansion.  The  coach- 
man's idea  must  be  accepted,  and  of  course  they  must 
take  the  11:30  train,  if  they  took  any. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SOME  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  after  Job's  return  from 
driving  Cameron  for  his  luggage,  a  carriage  drove  furi- 
ously up  to  the  Northrop  mansion,  and,  as  soon  as  the 
cabman  opened  the  door  Paul  Morrison  stepped  out  of 
it,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  knew  he  was  late  for  an 
important  engagement. 

The  first  person  he  met  after  entering  the  house  was 
Mr.  Northrop.  The  hearty  manner  with  which  the 
banker  received  him  quite  astonished  him.  He  did  not 
know  that  the  heartiness  was  entirely  due  to  what  the 


I  SWEAR.  157 

banker  considered  his  unusual  promptness,  (or  rather  the 
unusual  promptness  of  his  cousin  counterpart,)  in  getting 
his  traps,  so  as  not  to  force  a  change  of  the  arrangements 
in  reference  to  departure  by  the  10:30  train.  . 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  Mr.  Northrop, 
but  everything  has  been  arranged  so  peculiarly  we  could 
hardly  hope  to  get  through  without  some  mishap,"  Mor- 
rison said,  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  his  aston- 
ishment. "  Have  you  been  waiting  long  ? " 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  the  banker,  quite  cordially  for 
him.  "You  are  here  much  sooner  than  I  expected. 
Wawona  and  the  minister  are  waiting  for  you  in  the 
library.  I  was  afraid  we  would  be  compelled  to  accept 
Job's  suggestion,  and  have  your  drawing-room  changed 
for  the  11:30.  I  am  glad  your  promptness  has  prevented 
the  necessity  ;  but  you  will  have  to  be  expeditious,  and 
so  you  had  better  go  to  the  library  at  once.  I  will  join 
you  as  soon  as  I  obtain  the  papers  you  left  a  few  mo- 
ments ago." 

Morrison  was  so  preoccupied  in  thinking  of  the  pecu-- 
liarity  of  meeting  the  minister  and  bride  in  the  library, 
that  he  failed  to  notice  the  allusion  to  his  having  been 
in  the  house  a  few  moments  before.  He  could  not  under- 
stand exactly  what  all  the  bustle  meant ;  but  he  hur- 
riedly determined  to  follow  the  banker's  instructions, 
and  go  to  the  library. 

There,  to  his  surprise,  was  Wawona,  with  all  her  wraps 
on,  ready  for  instant  departure. 

"  Oh,  Paul ! "  she  said,  as  she  kissed  him,  "  how  strange 
this  all  is.  Everything  seems  to  have  gone  wrong." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  cannot  comprehend  why  all 
this  hurry  is  being  made.  I  consented  to  all  these  ar- 
rangements merely  because  I  did  not  want  to  put  your 
uncle  to  any  more  trouble  than  I  could  help.  But  where 
is  Mr.  Jender  ? " 


i58  I  SWEAR. 

"That  is  what  is  the  matter.  It  is  very  strange  that 
neither  Frank  nor  Fanny  is  here." 

"But  where  are  they?"  asked  Morrison. 

"  Heaven  only  knows,"  answered  Mr.  Northrop,  com- 
ing in  just  at  that  moment. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  minister  : 

"Mr.  Wellington,  have  they  signed  those  contracts?" 

"  No,  I  have  them  all  prepared  however,"  the  minister 
answered  rather  flurrledly  ;  the  bustling  of  the  nervous 
banker  had  begun  to  tell  on  even  his  apparently  nerve- 
less temperament. 

"  Mr.  Morrison,  you  sign  there,  and  Mrs.  Morrison,  you 
sign  here." 

"  We  are  not  going  to  be  married  by  contract,  are  we  ? " 
Morrison  asked,  thoroughly  mystified. 

"  This  is  an  additional  form,"  answered  the  minister, 
"which  your  uncle  suggested,  because  we  cannot  find 
the  marriage  license.  You  see  it  will  probably  save  any 
questions  as  to  the  legality.  It  is  a  mere  acknowledg- 
ment that  you  and  Wawona  Brooke  have  become  man 
and  wife,  which,"  he  said  jokingly,  "I  now  pronounce 
you." 

"  But  is  there  going  to  be  no  ceremony  ?  No  wit- 
nesses?" he  asked  in  rapid  succession. 

"This  completes  the  ceremony,"  Mr.  Northrop  inter- 
rupted, almost  crossly,  as  if  he  thought  the  Englishman 
were  casting  a  slur  upon  the  American  ceremony.  "  Mr. 
Wellington  and  I  are  witnesses." 

A  little  abashed  at  this  explanation  of  the  affair,  Mor- 
rison signed  his  name  to  the  agreement,  and  accepted 
the  copy  the  minister  tendered  him  Wawona  did  like- 
wise, without  saying  a  word. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morrison,"  said  the  minister, 
trying  to  smooth  the  brusqueness  of  the  situation,  "  I 
wish  you  a  long  life  and  happiness." 


I  SWEAR.  159 

"  And  are  we  married  ? "  Morrison  asked,  still  deter- 
mined, in  spite  of  the  banker's  abruptness,  to  learn  the 
reason  for  what  seemed  to  him  this  almost  foolhardy  sim- 
plicity, not  to  say  want  of  ceremony. 

"  As  fast  as  the  laws  of  Massachusetts  can  make  you," 
replied  the  minister,  becoming  quite  verbose  in  his  haste 
to  precede  the  banker  in  a  reply.  "  That  contract,  a  copy 
of  which  you  both  hold,  together  with  your  agreement  in 
the  presence  of  witnesses,  makes  assurance  doubly  sure, 
and  takes  a  bond  of  fate." 

Morrison  hesitated  a  second,  as  if  to  make  up  his  mind 
whether  to  push  his  doubts  any  further — and  hastily 
determined  that,  as  he  had  borne  all  the  inconveniences 
caused  by  the  banker  thus  far,  it  would  be  better  to  bear 
with  this.  Accepting  as  final  the  assurance  of  the  min- 
ister, he  turned  to  Wawona  and  said,  as  he  clasped  her  in 
his  arms : 

"Then  you  are  mine  !  " 

Suddenly  a  thought  occurred  to  him.  He  picked  up 
his  traveling-bag,  and  from  it  took  a  very  handsome  jewel- 
case,  saying : 

"  I  have  a  present  for  you.  It  was  a  gift  to  my  mother 
at  her  marriage.  She  sent  it  to  you  with  her  very  best 
love." 

"  Oh,  how  lovely  !  "  Wawona  cried,  enthusiastically  ; 
and  kissing  him  again,  turned  to  examine  the  old-fash- 
ioned diamond  brooch  which  the  case  contained. 

"  What  is  this  peculiar  little  mark  on  the  back,"  she 
asked — "like  a  catch  ? " 

"  I  never  noticed  it,"  Morrison  answered,  absent- 
mindedly,  as  he  turned  to  accept  the  annuity  papers 
which  Mr.  Northrop,  who  had  at  that  moment  reentered 
the  room,  handed  him. 

Wawona  investigated  for  herself. 

She  pressed  on  what  seemed  to  be  a  concealed  knob, 


160  /  SWEAR. 

and  lo  !  the  whole  gold  back  raised,  and  there  she  saw  a 
miniature  of  a  stern-featured  man,  beneath  which  was 
this  inscription : 

"From  your  long-lost  brother,  John  Craig." 

The  sudden  sight  of  that  hated  name,  which  she  had 
not  seen  for  so  long,  nearly  stunned  her. 

The  revelation  of  the  fact  that  notwithstanding  her 
oath  to  her  father,  she  was  married  to  the  nephew  of 
John  Craig,  seemed  in  an  instant  to  completely  destroy 
the  ecstacy  of  being  a  bride. 

The  unhappy  scene  of  so  long  ago  had  never  left  her 
mind.  With  terrible  vividness  the  picture  of  that  night 
recurred  to  her.  The  sound  of  her  own  little  voice,  when 
she  said  to  her  dying  father,  "I  swear  never  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  John  Craig  or  his,  so  long  as  I  live," 
came  echoing  back.  The  thought  that  she  had  broken 
that  oath  left  her  powerless  for  a  moment,  but  the  next 
moment  brought  with  it  a  resolution  to  act  at  once. 

All  the  vengeful  ire  of  the  explosive  Indian  blood 
coursing  through  her  veins  sprang  to  life.  Only  the  re- 
finement produced  by  careful  education  prevented  that 
ire  from  entirely  mastering  her. 

She  felt  that  there  must  be  no  mistake.  She  nerved 
herself  for  a  supreme  effort.  Bracing  herself  against  the 
desk  at  which  she  was  standing,  she  turned  to  the  minis- 
ter, and  said  in  a  firm  voice  : 

"  Mr.  Wellington,  will  you  kindly  leave  me  alone  with 
my  uncle  and  Mr:  Morrison  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  he  said,  wondering  at  her  changed  ap- 
pearance. He  turned  and  left  the  room,  closing  the  door 
behind  him. 

The  harsh  tone  of  her  voice  drew  the  attention  of  both 
her  uncle  and  Morrison. 

She  looked  Paul  straight  in  the  face.  Her  great  black 
eyes,  ablaze  with  restrained  feeling,  gave  her  strong  face 


I  SWEAR.  161 

an  almost  fierce  expression.  She  was  visibly  under  the 
influence  of  some  great  excitement ;  yet  there  was  no 
tremor  in  her  voice  when  she  asked  him,  enunciating 
each  syllable  distinctly : 

"  Are  you  a  nephew  of  John  Craig,  of  the  Cherokee 
Nation  ? " 

Morrison  was  thunderstruck.  He  hesitated,  hung  his 
head,  then  looked  up,  evidently  determined  to  make  a 
denial ;  but  his  startled  manner  and  guilty  confusion  dis- 
closed what  his  tongue  dared  not  utter. 

"  You  are  !  You  are  !  "  came  almost  in  a  shriek  from 
the  poor  girl.  The  next  instant  she  fell  to  the  floor  in  a 
dead  faint. 

Her  over-wrought  nerves  had  given  way. 

The  face  of  the  banker  was  a  study,  as  he  stooped  to 
pick  up  the  brooch  and  read  the  inscription. 

His  feelings  toward  this  man,  who  had  already  aroused 
his  dislike  by  his  questionable  attentions  to  his  daughter, 
so  moved  him  that  he  could  hardly  contain  himself. 

As  he  turned  from  the  apparently  lifeless  form  of  the 
daughter  of  his  dead  sister,  his  frame  shook  with  sup- 
pressed rage. 

"So,  sir,"  he  hissed,  "this  is  your  motive  !  You  are 
the  nephew  of  John  Craig.  My  God  —  I  don't  know  why 
I  don't  kill  you  on  the  spot  !  Go  !  Leave  this  house, 
and  "  —  he  suddenly  hesitated,  his  ruling  passion  not  to 
permit  himself  to  be  a  party  to  "scenes"  sufficiently 
taking  possession  of  him,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  now 
almost  tragic  grief,  to  make  him  realize  that  he  must  be 
circumspect  in  his  actions  or  else  the  entire  company 
would  know  more  or  less  of  the  unhappy  denouement. 

Morrison  misinterpreted  the  hesitation. 

"  Sir,  give  me  an  opportunity  to  explain.     I  - 

"  None,  sir  ! "  thundered  the  banker,  the  sound  of  Mor- 
rison's voice  having  revived  with  even  greater  force  the 


1 62  /  SWEAR. 

anger  which  had  been  temporarily  checked.  "  Leave  my 
house  at  once  —  leave  it  before  my  feelings  make  me  do 
what  I  shall  regret !  Go  ! " 

" But  permit— "  Morrison  was  about  to  insist,  when 
Parker  entered  the  room  in  response  to  a  bell  the  banker 
had  rung. 

"Stop  —  not  a  word,"  he  said  beneath  his  breath,  to 
Morrison. 

"  Here,  Parker,  attend  to  Wawona,  while  I  show  Mr. 
Morrison  out." 

Wawona  gave  signs  of  reviving. 

"  Hurry,"  the  banker  said,  almost  pushing  Morrison 
along  the  hall  toward  the  side  entrance.  "  Do  not  let  her 
eyes  be  contaminated  by  the  sight  of  you  when  she  re- 
covers her  senses." 

Morrison,  nearly  dazed,  permitted  himself  to  be  half 
lead,  half  thrust  out  of  the  side  door. 

Mr.  Northrop  returned  to  the  library,  gave  a  few  hasty 
instructions  to  Parker  concerning  her  deportment  toward 
the  other  servants-,  and  ordered  her  to  conduct  Miss 
Brooke  to  her  own  apartments. 

Then  he  realized  that  his  guests  must  be  wondering  at 
the  long  absence  of  the  bridal  party. 

He  determined  to  calm  himself,  and  return  to  them  to 
make  the  necessary  explanations. 

As  he  passed  the  front  door,  he  noticed  that  the  ser- 
vant was  opening  it  in  response  to  a  ring  of  the  bell. 
Mr.  Cameron  appeared,  valise  in  hand,  returning  on  his 
mission  to  obtain  an  explanation  from  Mr.  Northrop. 

At  the  sight  of  what  he  thought  was  the  perfidious 
Morrison  again,  the  banker,  in  an  almost  ungovernable 
rage,  advanced  to  meet  him.  Before  Cameron  could  en- 
ter the  door,  he  stepped  out,  pushed  Cameron  with  him, 
and  closed  the  door  behind  them. 

"  Sir,"  he  hissed,  "  have  you  not  caused  enough  trouble 


/  SWEAR.  163 

in  my  household  ?  If  you  ever  dare  set  foot  in  my  house 
again,  by  the  Eternal,  I  '11  kill  you,  you — you — snake  ! " 

With  this  imprecation  he  entered  the  house,  leaving 
Cameron  to  sadly  turn  away,  and  order  his  carriage  to 
return  to  his  hotel. 

His  poor  troubled  mind  could  not  distract  itself  from 
the  problem  why  fate  had  given  him  this  night's  expe- 
rience, the  unhappiest,  it  seemed  to  him,  that  ever  mor- 
tal could  have  suffered  He  couM  not  understand  on 
what  theory  the  most  optimistic  philosopher  could  find 
justice  in  thus  making  his  already  lonesome  life  infinite- 
ly more  sad  and  lonely  because  of  that  one  passing  glimpse 
of  what  happiness  might  have  been  his  had  he  been  per- 
mitted to  reenter  the  social  world  with  Wawona  for  a 
companion. 

What  return  was  fate  making  him  for  the  blameless 
life  he  had  always  led  ?  What  return  for  his  uncom- 
plaining acceptance  of  reverses  in  fortune  ? 

Why  should  his  fidelity  to  his  love  for  this  girl,  which 
had  made  him  give  up  all  thoughts  of  social  enjoyment 
without  her,  be  made  the  means  of  causing  him  this  in- 
creased sorrow  ? 

Why  had  that  fleeting  ecstacy  of  love  been  changed 
into  the  perfect  agony  of  loss  by  one  swift  transition  ? 

He  recalled  a  sonnet  memorized  in  the  long  ago  : 

"  To  look  upon  the  face  of  a  dead  friend 
Is  hard  ;  but  'tis  not  more  than  we  can  bear, 
If,  haply,  we  can  see  peace  written  there — 
Peace  after  pain,  and  welcome  so  the  end, 
Whate'er  the  past,  whatever  death  may  send  ; 
Yea,  and  that  face  a  gracious  smile  may  wear, 
If  love  till  death  was  perfect,  sweet,  and  fair  ; 
But  there  is  woe  from  which  may  God  defend, 
To  look  upon  our  friendship  lying  dead, 
While  we  live  on,  and  eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep — 


1 64  /  SWEAR. 

Mere  bodies  from  which  the  soul  has  fled — 
And  that  dead  thing  year  after  year  to  keep 
Locked  in  cold  silence  in  its  dreamless  bed  ; 
There  must  be  hell  while  there  is  such  a  deep. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MEANWHILE  Frank  Jender  was  wildly  riding  after  the 
bridesmaid  in  the  direction  of  Swamscot. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  thanks  to  the  speed  of  Fanny's 
own  horse,  he  overtook  the  almost  frenzied  girl  shortly 
before  she  reached  the  bridge. 

As  soon  as  she  recognized  Frank,  all  the  sorrow  she 
had  been  restraining  so  as  not  to  attract  attention  from 
those  whom  she  chanced  to  pass  on  the  road,  burst  forth 
in  a  half  sob,  half  wail. 

Frank  merely  said  :  "  I  will  get  in  and  drive,  Fanny." 

He  suited  his  actions  to  his  words,  after  tying  his  horse 
behind  the  phaeton. 

"  But  what  shall  I  do,  Frank  ? "  she  managed  to  ask, 
through  her  sobs. 

"  Cry,"  he  answered  laconically. 

She  accepted  his  advice. 

Her  grandmother's  house  was  only  about  a  mile  further 
on.  Frank  drove  directly  to  it,  Fanny  meanwhile  pour- 
ing out  her  nervous  grief  in  deep,  long-drawn  sobs. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me,  Frank  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  To  your  grandmother's,"  he  answered  firmly,  but  not 
harshly  ;  "there  you  can  recover  from  this  fit  of  nervous- 
ness without  any  one  knowing  it." 

Silence  followed  until  they  arrived  at  the  house. 

As  he  turned  to  help  her  out  of  the  buggy  she  began 


I  SWEAR.  165 

to  cry  hysterically,  and  he  was  finally  compelled  to  carry 
her  in-doors. 

The  old  lady  and  her  one  servant  were  very  much  as 
tonished  at  the  unusual  visit,  and  could  not  understand 
the  situation.  Frank  simply  explained  that  Fanny  was 
ill,  and  they  had  deemed  it  best  not  to  return  while  the 
wedding  was  in  progress. 

Then  he  hurried  off  for  a  physician. 

By  the  time  they  had  gotten  her  quiet  and  sleeping 
under  the  influence  of  opiates,  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock. 

Frank  knew  it  would  be  fully  eleven  before  he  could 
get  back  to  his  uncle's  house,  and  that  the  ceremony 
would  be  over.  As  he  felt  that  his  entrance  on  the  scene 
at  that  late  hour  would  occasion  remark  and  require  ex- 
planations, he  assured  himself  that  he  need  not  hurry, 
and  drove  back  slowly,  giving  himself  time  to  muse  over 
the  sad  termination  of  his  phantom  hopes. 

Shortly  after  eleven  o'clock  he  reached  Northrop  Hall. 

Much  to  his  surprise,  instead  of  finding  the  reception 
at  its  height,  he  saw  almost  the  last  of  the  carriages  dis- 
appearing. In  one  of  those  inexplicable  ways  the  guests 
had  learned  that  something  unfortunate  had  happened, 
and  had  thoughtfully  retired. 

Frank  could  not  fathom  it. 

Was  it  possible  his  hopes  had  been  realized,  and  Wa- 
wona  had  deserted  Morrison  for  his  friend  ? 

His  sad,  listless  air  left  him  at  the  thought.  He  rushed 
to  his  uncle's  library.  There  he  found  Mr.  Northrop  alone, 
and  learned  that  his  hopes  were  not  to  be  realized,  for 
almost  the  first  thing  which  met  his  eye  as  he  entered 
the  room  was  the  book  Mr.  Wellington  had  presented 
Wawona,  on  the  first  page  of  which  he  saw  the  contract 
of  marriage  signed  "Paul  Morrison"  and  "Wawona 
Brooke." 

Mr.  Northrop  was  alone  and  at  once  demanded  an  ex- 


1 66  /  SWEAR. 

planation.  Then  both  described  their  parts  in  the  night's 
romance. 

The  banker  finally  said  : 

"  Frank,  I  do  not  know  what  to  think  of  that  man.  He 
has  been  leading  a  most  exemplary  life  for  the  last  three 
years.  I  had  almost  become  reconciled  to  the  thought 
of  the  marriage.  Now  I  fear  he  has  ruined  the  lives  of 
both  my  wards ;  Fanny  because  of  her  blighted  love,  and 
Wavvona  in  that  he  has  made  her  break  her  solemn  oath 
at  her  father's  death-bed.  What  will  come  of  it,  I  can- 
not think." 

"  What  shall  we  say  to  our  friends  ?  "  Frank  asked. 

"  Nothing,  for  the  present.  I  am  afraid  we  have  not 
seen  the  end.  John  Craig  has  not  yet  shown  what  his 
part  is  in  this  affair ;  so  the  least  said,  the  better,"  an- 
swered the  banker. 

Frank  withdrew,  to  try  to  reason  put  a  plan  for  him- 
self. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHEN  Paul  Morrison  found  himself  outside  the 
Northrop  mansion  he  was  as  near  being  insane  as  one 
possessed  of  his  senses  could  be. 

The  peculiar  manner  of  this  his  second  unhappy  evic- 
tion from  the  house,  and  the  strange  effect  the  discovery 
of  his  connection  with  John  Craig  had  on  his  wife  (?) 
and  her  uncle,  coupled  with  the  odd  haste  and  hurry  in 
which  the  transactions  of  the  last  fifteen  minutes  had 
been  carried  on,  left  him  so  completely  dazed  that  it 
was  some  time  before  he  could  sufficiently  collect  his 
thoughts  to  even  decide  to  order  a  cab  and  drive  to  a 
hotel. 


I  SWEAR.  167 

His  life  for  the  last  three  months  had  been  one  of  con- 
stant introspective  philosophizing.  He  felt  he  was  do- 
ing both  himself  and  Wawona  Brooke  a  great  wrong  by 
consummating  this  marriage  ;  but  the  realization  of  the 
fact  that  not  to  do  so  would  alienate  forever  the  only 
friend  who  had  ever  shown  enough  interest  in  his  wel- 
fare to  help  him  in  a  practical  way,  assisted  possibly  by 
a  little  Scotch  determination  not  to  be  forced  out  of  his 
line  of  action  by  the  petty,  and  as  he  thought  childish, 
restrictions  of  the  Yankee  banker,  had  caused  him  to 
complete  the  arrangements  with  Frank  Jender. 

When  everything  was  settled,  and  he  was  certain  that 
fate  had  left  him  no  loophole  to  escape,  he  had  written 
to  John  Craig  of  his  intentions.  The  letter  went  by 
the  steamer  which  sailed  the  week  before  he  did,  and 
merely  announced  the  fact  that  he  and  Wawona  Brooke 
were  to  be  married  on  the  5th  of  June  following,  and 
that  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  do  so,  he  would  telegraph 
to  him  the  message  for  which  his  uncle  had  been  wait- 
ing so  long :  "  I  am  the  husband  of  Wawona  Brooke." 

On  Morrison's  arrival  in  New  York  he  had  gone  di- 
rectly to  the  Hoffman  House. 

Hardly  had  he  completed  his  toilet  when,  to  his  aston- 
ishment, a  bell-boy  appeared  with  a  card — JOHN  CRAIG. 

" My  uncle !  —what  can  this  mean?"  thought  Morri- 
son, almost  hesitating  to  instruct  the  boy  to  "show  him 
up  "  first,  as  for  some  reason  he  felt  an  instinctive  dread 
of  meeting  this  man  who  had  been  so  mysteriously  kind 
to  him. 

Possibly  the  fact  that  the  carrying  out  of  his  expressed 
wish  had  been  the  means  of  placing  him  in  such  an 
anomalous  position  with  the  woman  he  loved  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  this  feeling. 

He  had  never  seen  his  uncle,  but  from  his  photograph 
and  the  tone  of  his  letters  he  had  pictured  him  as  a  tall, 


1 68  /  SWEAR. 

erect,  commanding  backwoodsman.  He  was  quite  sur- 
prised when  the  boy,  a  few  moments  afterward,  ushered 
in  a  rather  undersized  old  man,  bent  over,  apparently, 
with  sickness. 

"You  hardly  expected  to  see  me  yet,  Paul,"  the  uncle 
said  as  soon  as  he  had  introduced  himself. 

"No,  I  thought  I  should  first  have  the  pleasure  of 
calling  on  you  with  my  bride  out  in  the  Indian  Territory," 
Morrison  answered. 

"  Something  of  that  sort  was  my  original  intention," 
the  old  man  answered.  "But  I  could  not  bear  to  wait. 
You  see  I  have  had  two  hemorrhages  of  the  lungs,  and 
the  doctor  tells  me  the  next  will  be  my  last.  I  was  afraid 
something  would  happen  before  I  should  see  you." 

The  look  of  determination  which  came  over  his  face  as 
he  said  this  proved  plainly  that  his  old  firmness  of  pur- 
pose was  still  there,  notwithstanding  the  effects  of  his 
illness. 

The  speech  brought  OH  a  fit  of  coughing. 

"There,  there,  uncle,"  Morrison  said,  alarmed  at  his 
relative's  appearance,  "  do  not  distress  yourself.  Wait 
until  you  are  rested." 

"No,  I  must  tell  you  now,"  the  old  man  nerved  himself 
to  say.  "  When  you  are  married  to  Wawona  Brooke  I 
have  nothing  more  to  live  for ;  my  life's  work  is  done. 
My  revenge  is  then  complete  ! " 

"What  do  you  mean  ? "  Morrison  asked. 

The  old  man  was  overcome  by  another  fit  of  coughing. 
Evidently  he  had  determined  that  he  had  said  too  much 
already,  and  intended  to  pass  it  over. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  resumed  Craig  as  soon  as  he  had 
caught  his  breath.     "You  are  heir  to  all  my  personal 
property — it  will  be  enough— at  least  one  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  the  land,  when  you  are  her  husband — 
you  will  have  control — " 


I  SWEAR.  169 

"I  don't  understand,  uncle,"  Morrison  interrupted 
interestedly. 

Then  noticing  that  the  old  man  was  nearly  exhausted, 
he  rang  for  some  stimulants. 

As  soon  as  Craig  had  revived,  he  said : 

"  You  go  about  your  preparations,  Paul.  I  may  go  to 
Boston  tomorrow,  but  I  will  see  you  here,  in  New  York, 
after  the  wedding." 

Morrison  deemed  it  advisable  not  to  tax  the  old  gen- 
tleman's strength  too  much,  as  the  ravages  of  his  disease 
were  very  apparent,  and  he  assisted  him  to  his  room 
without  asking  any  further  explanation  of  that  mysteri- 
ous and  melodramatic  allusion  to  "  revenge." 

This  interview  came  back  to  Morrison  with  its  full 
effect  as  he  was  driving  to  the  hotel  after  his  scene  with 
his  wife  (?).  Evidently  that  "  revenge  "  was  the  clew  to 
the  mysterious  actions  of  Wawona  when  she  found  he 
was  the  nephew  of  John  Craig,  and  also  the  probable 
explanation  of  that  mysterious  imprecation  of  Amos 
Northrop,  "  You  have  made  this  poor  girl  break  her  oath 
to  her  father  at  his  death-bed  !  " 

What  it  all  meant  he  could  not  fathom  ;  he  felt  that  the 
only  course  left  for  him  was  to  see  his  uncle  and  demand 
an  explanation. 

By  the  time  he  arrived  at  the  hotel  and  was  installed 
in  his  apartments,  he  had  worked  himself  into  a  gangli- 
onic  fever. 

All  sorts  of  fitful  conjectures  were  weaving  themselves 
around  savage  Indian  chiefs,  death-bed  oaths,  and  awful 
revenges.  They  left  his  mind  so  entangled  that  he  had 
about  concluded  to  defer  his  attempt  to  unravel  the  sit- 
uation until  morning,  when  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door. 

To  his  surprise  it  was  the  bell-boy,  with  his  uncle's 
card.  In  his  present  nervous  state  his  first  impulse  was 
to  order  the  boy  to  announce  that  he  would  not  see  him 


170  I  SWEAR. 

until  morning  —  and  then  a  determination  to  bring  to  a 
conclusion  this  unhappy  and  awful  uncertainty,  and  to 
press  the  matter  to  its  "bitter  end,"  prompted  him  to 
instruct  the  boy  to  admit  him. 

As  John  Craig  entered,  Morrison  turned  and  handed 
him  the  book  and  contract  which  the  minister  had  given 
him,  saying  in  a  tragically  despondent  voice  : 

"  I  am  the  husband  of  Wawona  Brooke,  and  the  un- 
happiest  man  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

"  Thank  God  !  Thank  God  ! "  said  the  old  man,  as  he 
read  the  announcement  of  the  marriage  on  the  first  page 
of  the  book,  not  appearing  to  notice  his  nephew's  other 
announcement. 

"  Now,  uncle,"  Morrison  said  firmly,  "  I  have  paid  the 
debt  I  owe  you,  and  in  doing  so  have  wrecked  the  happi- 
ness of  myself  and  two  women,  one  of  whom  I  love  bet- 
ter than  my  life.  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?" 

With  this  he  disjoinedly,  almost  fiercely,  told  of  the 
occurrences  in  the  Northrop  library,  and  his  eviction 
from  the  house. 

"And  you  do  not  love  Wawona  Brooke?"  asked  the 
old  man,  a  look  of  joy  stealing  over  his  face. 

"  I  do  not,"  answered  Morrison  dejectedly,  the  vehe- 
mence of  his  anger  having  been  toned  down  to  dejection 
by  the  master  will  force  of  his  uncle,  a  power  which  had 
subdued  his  passion  even  before  it  found  opportunity  to 
vent  itself. 

"And  you  do  love  Fanny  Northrop  ? "  he  inquired. 

"Yes,"  Morrison  replied,  with  a  deep  sigh,  after  a 
slight  hesitation. 

"'Tis  well,  't  is  well,"  mused  the  old  man,  as  if  to  him- 
self, apparently  having  forgotten  his  nephew's  presence. 

Finally  he  walked  over  to  Morrison,  and  said  in  the 
firm  tone  of  a  man  who  is  accustomed  to  command  : 

"  You  shall  marry  her." 


I  SWEAR.  171 

"  Whom  ?  "  asked  Morrison,  impressed  in  spite  of  his 
despondency. 

"Fanny  Northrop." 

"  But  I  am  already  married  to  Wawona  Brooke." 

"  Yes,  but  we  will  let  her  have  a  divorce  as  soon  as  she 
has  deeded  all  her  interest  in  the  lands  to  us.  I  will  at- 
tend to  this  in  the  morning.  Leave  it  all  to  me.  Good 
night,"  and  before  Morrison  could  answer  he  was  gone. 

The  poor  fellow  sat  there,  infinitely  miserable.  It  was 
a  relief  to  be  alone.  The  towering  will  of  his  uncle  left 
him  almost  helpless  in  his  presence.  He  could  not 
understand  himself ;  his  whole  individuality  seemed  to 
be  lost  immediately  upon  his  uncle's  appearance. 

His  original  intention  had  been  to  hurl  defiance  in  the 
old  man's  face,  but  at  his  approach  his  every  motive  be- 
came subservient  to  that  monster  will. 

He  gave  up  all  thought  of  independent  action,  and 
meekly  submitted  his  future  to  his  uncle  and  fate. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

AFTER  leaving  Mr.  Northrop,  Frank  Jender  had  gone 
to  the  room  set  apart  for  him,  so  engrossed  in  his  at- 
tempt to  solve  the  reason  for  Morrison's  actions,  that  all 
thoughts  of  Cameron  had  passed  from  his  mind.  In  fact 
he  was  so  absorbed  in  his  musings  that  he  had  taken  no 
notice  whatever  of  his  surroundings  ;  thus  the  telegram 
which  Mr.  Northrop  had  sent  to  his  room  entirely  es- 
caped his  notice,  although  the  servant  had  placed  it  in  a 
conspicuous  place  on  the  mantel. 

He  passed  a  restless  night  and  awoke  very  early  in  the 
morning.  After  tossing  about  in  bed  for  a  few  moments, 


172  I  SWEAR. 

reviewing  the  peculiar  happenings  of  the  evening  before, 
the  thought  suddenly  struck  him  — 

"What  in  the  world  became  of  Paul  Cameron  ?" 

He  remembered,  now  that  he  thought  of  it,  that  not 
one  word  had  been  spoken  about  Cameron  and  his  re- 
ception by  any  one. 

Two  theories  suggested  themselves  :  one  that  he  had 
changed  his  mind  and  determined  not  to  come ;  the  other 
that  he  had  come  and  kept  himself  in  the  background. 

Frank  made  up  his  mind  to  inquire  into  the  matter, 
and  immediately  got  out  of  bed  with  that  object  in  view, 
although  it  was  not  yet  seven  o'clock.  He  had  scarcely 
commenced  making  his  toilet  when  the  telegram  on  the 
mantel  caught  his  eye. 

"  That  will  explain  it.  Cameron  weakened  at  the  last 
minute,  went  back  to  Cambridge  and  telegraphed  me," 
was  the  mental  comment  as  he  broke  open  the  telegram, 
smiling  to  himself  meanwhile  at  the  additional  thought, 
—  "Those  educated  men  are  such  cowards." 

But  the  smile  left  his  face  as  he  read  : 

"  Train  is  delayed  forty  minutes.  Hold  the  ceremony. 
Love  to  Wawona.  PAUL  MORRISON." 

What  could  this  mean  ?  His  uncle  had  said  nothing 
about  any  delay. 

Again  a  series  of  attempts  at  explanation  racked  his 
brain  ;  but  he  knew  that  they  were  aH  futile. 

The  real  truth  never  entered  his  mind.  He  dressed 
as  rapidly  as  his  tendency  to  come  to  a  full  stop  and 
study  over  the  situation  would  permit  him,  and  then 
hastened  directly  to  the  stable  to  interview  Job. 

To  his  surprise  he  learned  that  Job  had  not  only 
brought  Cameron  from  the  hotel  to  the  house,  but  had 
driven  him  back  to  his  hotel  after  the  ceremony,  and  that 


I  SWEAR.  173 

Mr.  Northrop  had  seen  him  to  his  carriage.  Would  won- 
ders never  cease ! 

His  next  thought  was  Parker.  She  had  been  with  the 
family  so  long  that  he  could  trust  her  by  making  more 
pointed  inquiries.  He  did  not  have  an  opportunity  to 
see  her  until  after  breakfast,  however. 

To  his  surprise  she  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Cameron. 

"I  mean  the  man  who  looks  exactly  like  Mr.  Morri- 
son," Frank  said  somewhat  impatiently.  "  What  became 
of  him  while  they  were  waiting  for  the  groom  to  arrive  ? " 

"  Waiting  for  the  groom  to  arrive,  when  ?  " 

"  While  they  were  holding  the  ceremony  !  "  Frank  an- 
swered, impatient  at  what  he  considered  her  stupidity. 

"They  did  not  hold  the  ceremony.  The  groom  was 
here  on  time.  Mr.  Northrop  saw  that  nothing  was  late, 
sir,"  Parker  answered,  puzzled  at  his  questions.  "You 
know  well  enough  Mr.  Northrop  never  allows  anything 
to  be  behind  time  in  this  house." 

Frank  did  not  say  a  word.  For  the  first  time  a  sus- 
picion of  the  true  state  of  affairs  came  to  him. 

"  My  Paul  has  been  married  to  Wawona  by  mistake," 
he  thought,  but  immediately  he  remembered  to  have 
seen  the  book  which  the  minister  had  given  Wawona, 
containing  a  marriage  agreement  signed,  "  Paul  Mor- 
rison." Hence,  of  course,  this  mistake  must  have  been 
discovered  and  corrected. 

"  But  what  became  of  Mr.  Cameron  ?  I  Ml  see  Uncle 
Amos' about  that." 

He  looked  at  his  watch  ;  it  was  already  8:35.  Remem- 
bering Mr.  Northrop's  habit  of  leaving  for  the  bank  at 
a  quarter  of  nine,  he  hastened  to  the  library. 

He  found  his  uncle  with  a  very  worried  countenance. 

"  Frank,  I  am  glad  to  see  you ;  be  seated.  I  was  about 
to  send  for  you." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  have  saved  you  the  trouble,  uncle. 


i74  I  SWEAR. 

I  have  something  I  want  to  ask  you  about   last  night. 
j " 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  the  banker.  "  But  I  have  some- 
thing of  more  importance  which  I  want  you  to  help  me 
with.  I  must  leave  in  a  few  moments,  for  I  want  to  con- 
sult my  attorney  before  going  to  the  bank,  as  I  try.never 
to  allow  my  private  affairs  to  interfere  with  my  banking 
hours." 

Turning  to  his  desk  he  picked  up  a  letter. 

Frank  was  so  impressed  with  the  banker's  air  of  se- 
rious concern  that,  for  the  time  being,  all  thought  of 
Cameron's  affairs  left  him. 

"  I  received  this  letter  by  the  morning's  mail.  I  want 
you  to  go  to  'Parker's,'  and  judiciously  obtain  all  the  in- 
formation you  can  concerning  the  writer.  It  reads : 

"BOSTON,  MASS.,  June  6,  18 — ,i  A.  M. 
"AMOS  NORTHROP, 

"  Dear  Sir  : 

"  My  nephew,  Paul  Craig  Morrison,  a  few 
moments  ago  informed  me  of  last  night's  transactions. 

"  He  sees  that  you  are  attempting  to  estrange  his 
recently-made  wife  from  him. 

"I,  therefore,  feel  it  is  time  I  should  explain  my  posi- 
tion. I  shall  be  brief. 

"  Wawona  Brooke,  as  the  daughter  of  John  Brooke,  has 
an  interest  in  the  title  to  the  lands  of  the  Cherokee  Na- 
tion. 

"  At  her  marriage  the  control  of  that  interest  by  the 
laws  of  the  Nation  passed  to  her  husband.  Your  at- 
tempt to  estrange  his  wife  from  him  injures  him  to 
such  an  extent  that  I  am  about  to  advise  him  to  com- 
mence an  action  for  damages  against  you.  He  is  very 
loathe  to  take  such  a  step,  but  is  ready  to  follow  my  ad- 
vice. Possibly,  under  the  circumstances,  it  would  be 


/  SWEAR.  175 

better  for  him  to  permit  you  to  advise  Mrs.  Morrison  to 
give  him,  or  rather  me  for  him,  a  quitclaim  deed  to  any 
and  all  interest  she  may  have  in  the  Cherokee  lands  in 
consideration  of  his  dropping  the  matter  entirely,  and 
leaving  the  State  ;  so  that,  in  course  of  time,  she  may  be 
divorced  from  the  nephew  of  the  man  who  was  once  a 
fellow-chief  with  her  late  father^ 

"  My  nephew  does  not  know  of  this  letter ;  but  I  feel 
certain  he  will  follow  my  advice. 

"  The  matter  must  be  attended  to  immediately.  I  will 
call  at  your  house  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon,  June  6th, 
to  receive  your  answer.  .1  shall  have  a  deed  ready  for 
signature. 

"Yours,  etc., 

"JOHN  CRAIG." 

"  That  is  the  letter  of  a  shrewd  schemer  ?  You  see  he 
is  too  clever  to  make  the  proposition  direct  from  his 
nephew.  They  have  at  last  shown  their  hand.  Thi§ 
evidently  has  been  their  whole  animus  in  the  matter.  We 
cannot  permit  Wawona  to  be  in  any  way  connected  with 
this  rascal ;  neither  can  we  permit  her  to  break  her  oath 
to  her  father,"  he  said  nervously,  as  he  folded  the  letter 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  turning  to  Frank,  who 
sat  seemingly  dazed,  he  remarked  :  "I  must  go  now  and 
consult  our  attorney.  Be  discreet  in  your  inquiries, 
Frank,  and  report  to  me  at  the  bank.  Learn  all  you  can. 
Good  morning." 

Poor  Jender  continued  to  sit  there,  pondering  over  the 
revelation  of  perfidy  contained  in  that  letter  for  some 
time,  finally  commenting: 

"And  to  think  that  poor  Wawona  is  married  to  such  a 
wretch  ! " 

Then  the  suspicions  which  had  brought  him  to  his 
uncle  suddenly  returned  to  his  mind. 


176  /  SWEAR. 

"  Is  she  ? "  he  thought.  "  Suppose  she  was  married  to 
Paul  Cameron  first  by  mistake  ? " 

He  almost  leaped  for  joy. 

His  first  thought  was  to  rush  after  his  uncle  and  ex- 
plain his  hopes,  but  the  remembrance  of  the  contract 
signed  by  Morrison  made  him  determine  to  first  hunt 
up  Cameron,  and  be  certain  of  the  facts. 

The  telegram  from  Morrison  asking  for  the  delay, 
Job's  certainty  of  Cameron's  presence,  and  Parker's  cer- 
tainty that  the  ceremony  was  not  delayed,  left  a  last  lin- 
gering ray  of  hope  that  Cameron  had  been  married  in 
Morrison's  place  by  mistake — due  to  their  exact  similar- 
ity in  appearance,  in  spite  of  the  contract  signed  by  Mor- 
rison. 

He  determined  to  go  at  once  to  his  friend,  and  learn 
from  his  own  lips  what  part  he  had  played  in  the  un- 
happy proceedings. 

At  the  Vendome  he  found  that  Cameron  had  returned 
to  Cambridge  quite  early. 

Frank  hastened  to  his  apartments,  learned  he  was  out, 
and  would  not  return  till  one  in  the  afternoon. 

The  delay  drove  him  nearly  frantic.  He  could  not 
decide  whether  to  return  to  (:  Parker's,"  and  make  the 
inquiries  concerning  John  Craig  for  his  uncle,  or  to  con- 
tinue his  search  for  his  friend. 

He  finally  determined  on  the  latter  course,  and  rushed 
over  to  the  laboratory.  There  he  found  that  Cameron 
had  left  for  his  rooms  but  a  few  moments  before.  Frank 
followed.  This  time  he  was  in.  Jender  immediately 
concluded  from  his  appearance  that  something  very  seri- 
ous had  happened. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  is  it,  Frank  ?  I  am  glad  to  see  you, 
and  yet  I  feel  like  being  angry  with  you.  Were  I  not 
sure  that  fate,  for  some  unknown  reason,  has  given  me 
this  keen  agony,  and  that  you  were  a  mere  factor  in  her 


I  SWEAR.  177 

hands,  I  should  feel  harshly  toward  you.  Where  were 
you  last  night  ? " 

"  I  was  called  away  by  a  matter  of  life  and  death  only 
a  few  moments  after  I  sent  the  carriage  for  you.  There 
has  been  an  awful  calamity  at  our  house,  and  I  want  you 
to  help  me  get  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Mr.  Cameron,  please 
explain  to  me  all  you  know  of  the  affair,"  the  boy  asked 
awkwardly,  not  knowing  how  to  commence. 

"Do  you  not  know?  Has  your  uncle  not  told  you?" 
he  asked,  never  dreaming  that  Mr.  Northrop  did  not 
know  of  the  mistake,  having  accepted  the  exclamations 
during  his  last  interview  with  him  as  conclusive  proof  on 
that  point. 

"  My  uncle  has  explained  nothing  except  that  Wawona 
was  married  to  Paul  Morrison  last  night ;  that  Morrison 
gave  her  a  diamond  brooch  for  a  wedding  present,  and 
that  in  examining  it  she  discovered  he  was  the  nephew 
of  John  Craig,  the  man  who  had  ruined  her  family  and 
murdered  her  father  and  grandfather,  and  that  she  had 
taken  a  most  solemn  oath  to  her  father  on  his  death-bed 
to  have  no  connection  with  him  whatever.  Since  then  I 
have  read  a  telegram  which,  unhappily,  I  did  not  see 
until  this  morning,  announcing  to  me,  as  master  of  cere- 
monies, that  Paul  Morrison  was  on  the  train  which  was 
delayed  forty  minutes." 

Up  to  this  time  Cameron  had  been  listening  in  a  dull, 
heavy  way — his  own  acute  unhappiness  for  the  last  eigh- 
teen hours  having  apparently  so  clouded  his  mind  as  to 
prevent  his  face  from  displaying  any  expression  of  appre- 
ciation for  the  excessive  sorrow  which  he  knew  she  whom 
he  so  dearly  loved  must  be  suffering  on  account  of  the 
unhappy  incidents  Jender  was  relating. 

But  this  last  announcement  brought  him  to  himself  at 
once 


178  I  SWEAR. 

Frank's  heart  gave  a  bound  as  he  noticed  his  expres- 
sion change,  and  he  continued  in  his  nervous  way : 

"I  learned  from  the  servants  that,  notwithstanding 
this,  the  wedding  took  place  without  delay,  and  the  fact 
that  no  one  could  tell  anything  of  your  whereabouts  left 
me  to  indulge  in  all  kinds  of  fantastic  conjectures.  I 
have  come  to  you  for  a  full  explanation." 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?    Has  your  uncle  not  explained  ? " 

"Know?    What?" 

"  The  unhappy  part  I  played. " 

"No;  please  tell  me." 

Cameron  was  speechless.  He  scarcely  knew  how  to 
explain.  In  his  modesty  he  had  beei:  castigating  himself 
all  night  over  his  conceit  which  he  fek  had  permitted  him 
to  think  that  Wawona's  caresses  had  been  intended  for 
him  and  not  his  cousin  counterpart,  and  had  led  him 
into  being  such  an  important  factor  in  her  present  unhap- 
piness. 

He  hesitated  for  a  second,  and  then  determined  to 
swallow  all  pride  and  confide  the  matter  in  full  to  Frank, 
whom  he  felt  to  be  a  friend  sincere  enough  to  judge 
leniently. 

"  Well,  thinking  that  I  was  going  to  attend  a  party,  and 
not  knowing  it  was  to  be  a  wedding,  and  not  imagining 
the  connection  of  my  cousin,  Paul  Morrison,  with  Wa- 
wona — " 

"  His  cousin — that  explains  it,"  Frank  thought. 

He  could  have  shouted  for  joy,  and  almost  pinched 
himself  to  keep  from  interrupting  his  friend. 

"  I  entirely  misunderstood  Mr.  Northrop's  welcome. 
The  telegram  you  spoke  of  explains  the  matter.  You 
probably  do  not  know  that  five  years  ago  I  and  Wawona 
Brooke  were — I  was  going  to  say  engaged  to  be  married ; 
but  to  be  more  accurate  will  say,  that  without  having 
definitely  proposed  because  of  the  indefiniteness  of  my 


I  SWEAR.  179 

prospects  we  had  acted  as  if  there  were  an  engagement 
for  a  short  time,  and  then  a  series  of  untoward  incidents 
broke  off  our  intercourse — 

The  unhappy  recital  made  him  sigh,  and  he  hesitated 
an  instant. 

"Go  on  !  Go  on  —  tell  me  about  last  night !"  Frank 
urged,  almost  beside  himself  with  expectancy. 

"  So,"  his  instructor  continued,  too  much  wrapped  up 
in  his  own  thoughts  to  properly  appreciate  the  boy's 
eagerness,  "  when  I  was  shown  to  what  I  now  know  to 
have  been  Mr.  Morrison's  apartments,  and  Wawona  met 
me  with  open  arms,  I  was  fool  enough  to  suppose  she 
loved  me  still,  and  not  knowing  that  she  was  about  to 
marry  my  cousin,  whom  I  know  to  resemble  myself  very 
closely,  I  idiotically  accepted  her  caresses  as  a  renewal 
of  our  relationship,  the  invitation  which  you  caused  her 
to  write  me  giving  my  conceit  the  grounds  to  persuade 
myself  into  that  unhappy  conclusion.  Thus  prepared, 
the  peculiarity  of  my  former  connection  with  her  left  me 
to  wholly  misunderstand  her  conversation.  I  was  in- 
dulging in  a  caress  intended  for  another  when  your  uncle 
entered,  and  announced  that  everything  was  late,  and 
then,  without  giving  me  an  opportunity  for  explanation, 
—  in  fact  before  I  knew  any  explanation  was  necessary- 
he  rushed  us  down  to  the  parlor.  There,  to  my  surprise, 
I  found  myself,  with  Wawona,  facing  the  minister. 

On  account  of  the  precipitate  haste  of  every-one  to 
commence  the  ceremony,  my  already  puzzled  brain  per- 
mitted me  to  misconstrue  your  actions,  and  for  the  in- 
stant to  delude  myself  into  believing  that  you  had  deter- 
mined that  this  marriage  was  the  wish  of  both,  and  had 
taken  that  means  to  surprise  me.  Luckily,  Wawona 
fainted  when  I  turned  to  kiss  her,  and  your  uncle,  with- 
out permitting  me  to  explain  my  doubts,  bundled  me  into 
my  carriage,  so  that  I  could  get  back  to  my  hot  el  for  my 


i8o  /  SWEAR. 

traps.  As  I  entered  the  carriage  I  heard  him  instruct 
the  driver  to  take  '  Mr.  Morrison  to  the  Vendome. '  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  I  understood  the  situation.  I  had  felt 
all  along  that  there  was  a  mistake  ;  but  in  the  first  place, 
my  insane  love  for  Wawona,  revived  by  her  caresses,  left 
my  mind  in  anything  but  a  clear  state ;  and  then  the  un- 
usual and  precipitate  haste  of  your  uncle  and  the  minis- 
ter, together  with  the  rapidity  with  which  everything 
happened,  left  me  no  opportunity  to  ask  for  an  explana- 
tion without  causing  a  most  serious  commotion. 

"  Well,  to  be  brief,  I  went  to  my  hotel,  trying  to  un- 
ravel the  situation.  I  then  determined  to  return  and  be 
certain  that  my  suspicions  of  the  error  were  correct.  As 
you  know,  in  the  mean  time  the  mistake  had  been  found 
out  and  corrected,  and  your  uncle  properly,  though  I 
must  say  unnecessarily  very  forcibly,  ordered  me  out  of 
the  house." 

He  had  not  noticed  the  expression  of  delight  which 
had  come  over  Frank's  face,  and  was  consequently  start- 
led at  his  unexpected  ejaculation  : 

"  Thank  God !    Thank  God ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Mean  !  "  almost  shouted  the  boy.  "  Why,  my  idiotic 
pranks  and  your  peculiar  connection  with  last  night's 
proceedings  have  thwarted  the  plots  of  a  couple  of  the 
vilest  villains  the  world  ever  car/." 

Then,  realizing  that  in  his  melodramatic  excitement 
he  was  losing  valuable  time,  he  said : 

"  Enough  of  this ;  come  with  me,  quick.  I  must  tell 
my  uncle  about  this  at  once.  Come,  I  will  explain  it  all 
to  you  in  the  carriage."  lie  pulled  Cameron,  now  almost 
thoroughly  convinced  that  he  and  all  his  friends  had  be- 
come insane,  into  the  first  cab  he  could  find. 

On  the  way  Frank  explained  his  suspicions  :  that  the 
mistake  had  not  been  rectified,  that  Cameron  was  in  re- 


/  SWEAR.  181 

ality  the  husband  of  Wawona  Brooke,  and  that,  unwit- 
tingly, he  had  saved  Wawona  from  being  the  victim  of 
John  Craig  and  his  scheming  nephew. 

He  incidentally  mentioned  his  conversation  with  Miss 
Brooke  when  she  had  referred  to  his  companion,  and  al- 
most gave  him  hope  by  saying  : 

"  Absolutely,  Mr.  Cameron,  I  am  convinced  that  she 
merely  persuaded  herself  she  loved  Morrison  because  of 
his  resemblance  to  you,  and,  in  reality,  she  has  always 
been  and  still  is  in  love  with  you,  and  you  alone." 

Mr.  Northrop  was  probably  never  more  surprised  in 
his  life  than  when  Frank  bolted  into  his  private  office  at 
the  bank  with  his  friend. 

His  surprise  was  followed  by  perfect  amazement  when 
Frank  said,  "  Uncle  Amos,  permit  me  to  introduce  to  you 
Mr.  Paul  Cameron,  my  very  dear  friend  and  instructor,  of 
whom  you  have  heard  me  speak  so  often.  Mr.  Cameron 
—  Mr.  Northrop." 

The  banker  took  his  hand  in  a  mechanical  way,  not 
having  recovered  from  the  shock  at  hearing  he  was  not 
Morrison. 

"  Let  me  explain  everything,  uncle  ;  my  idiotic  pranks 
have  come  to  some  service  at  last.  I  think  they  have 
saved  Wawona  from  those  devils,"  and  forthwith  he  pro- 
ceded  to  relate  in  detail  to  the  now  thoroughly  antonished 
listener  his  and  Cameron's  connection  with  the  romance 
of  the  night  before. 

Mr.  Northrop  looked  at  his  watch,  2:15, — business 
hours,  but  for  once  in  his  life  he  broke  rules,  and  per- 
mitted social  life  to  interfere  with  his  routine  work. 

"  Please  come  over  to  Mr.  Curtis,  our  attorney.  We 
must  understand  the  effect  of  this  peculiar  marriage  im- 
mediately," the  banker  said,  so  soon  as  he  had  apolo- 
gized to  Cameron  for  his  brusqueness  of  the  evening  be- 
fore. 


i8a  I  SWEAR. 

When  they  had  set  forth  the  facts  of  the  matter  in  full 
to  the  attorney,  he  deliberated  a  short  time  and  then 
said: 

"  Well,  that  is  apparently  a  very  knotty  problem.  My 
opinion,  without  referring  to  the  authorities,  is,  that  Wa- 
wona  Brooke  is  married  to  no  one. 

"  The  marriage  with  Paul  Morrison  is  probably  void, 
at  all  events  is  voidable,  as  our  statutes  do  not  provide 
for  a  marriage  by  contract.  The  other  marriage  is  a  lit- 
tle more  difficult.  Marriage  is  a  civil  relation  arising 
out  of  a  contract.  And  a  contract  must  be  made  by  the 
meeting  of  two  or  more  minds  on  one  and  the  same  prop- 
osition :  that  is  to  .say,  they  must  each  and  all  agree  to 
the  same  thing  in  the  same  sense  at  the  same  time. 
Now,  if  at  the  time  Wawona  Brooke  pledged,  "  I  take 
thee,  Paul,"  during  the  ceremony,  she  meant  Paul  Mor- 
rison, and  not  Paul  Cameron,  she  did  not  agree  to  the 
same  thing  in  the  same  sense  that  Mr.  Cameron  did  when 
he  took  his  pledge ;  hence  there  was  no  contract,  and 
consequently  no  marriage — " 

"Of  course,  the  only  person  who  can  testify  to  that  in- 
tent is  Miss  Brooke,  herself,"  Frank  suggested  in  a  hope- 
ful voice.  "  And  if  she  is  willing  to  say  that  she  meant 
Paul  Cameron,  then  she  is  married  to  him,  is  she  not  ? " 

The  lawyer  did  not  answer  at  once,  he  pulled  down  two 
or  three  books,  and  referred  to  several  others,  then  said: 

"  The  General  Statutes  of  Massachusetts  provide  that 
a  marriage  is  not  to  be  '  deemed  or  adjudged  void,  nor 
shall  the  validity  thereof  be  in  any  way  affected,  by  want 
of  jurisdiction  or  authority  in  such  person  '  (meaning  the 
minister  in  this  case)  'if  the  marriage  is  in  other  respects 
lawful,  and  is  consummated  with  a  full  belief  on  the  part 
of  the  persons  so  married,  or  either  of  them,  that  they 
have  been  lawfully  joined  in  marriage.'  And  it  is  my 
opinion,  from  the  decisions  interpreting  that  statute,  that 


/  SWEAR.  183 

if  Miss  Brooke  asserts  it  was  her  intent  to  marry  Paul 
Cameron  at  that  time,  and  the  marriage  is  consummated, 
that  it  is  legal. 

"  To  be  perfectly  safe,  I  should  advise,  however,  that 
they  have  the  minister  re-perform  the  marriage  cere- 
mony. And  that  he  be  seen  at  once,  so  that  the 
record  which  the  law  requires  he  shall  keep,  and  a  copy 
of  which  he  must  return  each  month  to  the  clerk,  will 
show  that  she  was  married  to  Paul  Cameron,  and  not  to 
Paul  Morrison.  This  being  done  —  the  record  being 
straight—we  must  find  some  means  to  obtain  and  destroy 
that  book  containing  the  contract,  now  in  the  hands  of 
Paul  Morrison.  For  while  it  is  not  binding,  it  would  be 
a  very  serious  piece  of  evidence  in  case  the  matter  was 
brought  into  court,  as  it  might  force  us,  for  safety's  sake, 
to  file  a  libel  in  order  to  have  a  legal  adjudication  of  nul- 
lification of  the  alleged  contract.  However,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  dealing  with  this  man,  John  Craig,  this  afternoon, 
if  Miss  Brooke  is  willing  to  claim  that  she  intended  to 
marry  Paul  Cameron  when  she  entered  into  the  contract 
before  the  minister  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  and  is 
willing  to  complete  the  marriage  with  him,  we  can 
treat  him  as  her  husband." 

Frank  had  a  wild  idea  of  dancing  a  jig  or  doing  some- 
thing else  equally  idiotic,  but  finally  quelled  himself  on 
account  of  the  solemnity  and  dignity  of  his  company. 

After  considerable  discussion  it  was  determined  that 
Frank  and  his  friend  should  return  to  Northrop  Hall  at 
once.  The  former  was  to  interview  Wawona  to  see  if  his 
theory  as  to  her  feelings  were  correct,  and  in  case  they 
were,  she  and  Mr.  Cameron  were  to  appear  at  the  4 
o'clock  conference  with  John  Craig.  Mr.  Curtis  and  Mr. 
Northrop  were  to  follow  at  3  :  30  to  hear  the  result,  so  as 
to  be  able  to  determine  on  a  different  plan  of  action  in 
case  Wawona  was  not  to  be  "  Mrs.  Cameron.'1 


1 84  /  SWEAR. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  house  Frank  had  Parker  announce 
him,  and  then  he  left  poor  Cameron  in  the  library  while 
he  followed  the  maid  to  Wawona's  sitting-room. 

Frank  expected  to  notice  that  Wawona  had  suffered, 
but  was  unprepared  to  find  such  a  change  as  she  now 
presented. 

All  hope  seemed  to  have  left  her.  As  he  entered  the 
room  she  gave  him  her  hand  and  led  him  to  a  divan  upon 
which  they  had  often  lounged  on  former  and  happier 
occasions. 

"  Frank,  what  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  awful,  awful 
blow  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  tone  pregnant  with  woe  and  hope 
abandoned  :  "to  thmkthat  this,  which  should  have  been 
my  happiest  day,  is  the  most  unhappy  of  which  mortal 
can  conceive." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed. 

Frank  determined  to  enter  upon  his  errand  at  once,  so 
he  said,  without  attempting  to  answer  her  question  : 

"  Wawona,  do  you  remember  Paul  Cameron  ? '' 

She  gave  an  involuntary  start  as  he  spoke  the  name, 
and  instantly  looked  at  him  to  see,  if  possible,  what  he 
meant ;  then  she  answered  in  an  expectant  tone  : 

"  Yes.     Why  ? " 

"  Do  you  remember  a  talk  we  had  long  ago,  when  you 
told  me  of  a  Harvard  lover  you  once  had,  and  how  Mr. 
Morrison  at  first  reminded  you  of  him  ?  Did  you  then 
mean  Paul  Cameron  ? "  he  asked  earnestly. 

She  was  equally  intent  in  scanning  his  face.  "Yes, 
and  Frank — "then  she  hesitated,  wavered  an  instant 
and  finally  continued,  "Frank,  knowing  what  a  true 
friend  you  are  to  me,  and  knowing  how  you  feel  toward 
Mr.  Cameron,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  I  thought  I 
would  never  say  to  a  living  being." 

She  dropped  her  eyes  and  gazed  silently  at  her  hands 


/  SWEAR,  185 

for  a  few  moments.  Frank  could  hardly  rest  in  his  im- 
patience. 

At  last  she  said,  without  lifting  her  eyes  : 

"  Frank,  I  have  several  times  thought  that  my  whole 
love  for  Mr.  Morrison  was  due  to  the  fact  of  his  resem- 
blance to  Mr.  Cameron.  I  now  know  that  many  of  the 
qualities  which  I  supposed  him  to  possess  are  absent ; 
and  I  feel  I  had  built  in  my  mind's  eye  such  a  noble, 
ideal  man  around  my  dear  memories  of  Paul  Cameron, 
that  when  Mr.  Morrison  appeared,  I  permitted  his  re- 
markable resemblance  to  Paul  Cameron  to  give  him  that 
ideal's  place  in  my  mind;  and  I  thought,  also,  injny 
heart.  The  last  few  hours  have  taught  me  that  he  never 
did  fill  the  place  in  my  heart  which  was  once  occupied 
by  Paul  Cameron." 

"  And  do  you  love  Paul  Cameron  ? "  he  asked  precip- 
itately. 

"  Yes,"  Wawona  answered,  calmly  and  sadly,  the  deep 
despondency  in  her  tone  coming  in  marked  contrast 
with  the  hopeful  inflection  of  the  boy. 

"  Wawona,  we  are  saved  ! "  he  shouted,  as  he  took  her 
in  hie  arms.  "  Paul  Cameron  is  your  husband." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Frank?    Explain  yourself." 

The  faithful  fellow  hurriedly  narrated  the  whole  affair, 
and  the  decision  of  the  lawyer,  and  ended  with — 

"  And  you  will  have  him,  Wawona,  won't  you  ?  I  know 
he  loves  you." 

"  Kcive  him,  Frank  ?  If  you  knew,  as  I  do,  how  my 
heart  has  been  yearning  for  him  all  these  years,  you — 

"  Well,  wait  half  a  second,  and  I  11  bring  him  up,"  in- 
terrupted the  impetuous  youth,  as  he  rushed  out  of  the 
room. 

Wawona  knew  not  what  to  do.  Her  woman's  instinct 
— the  ruling  passion  strong  even  now — impelled  her  to 
go  to  the  mirror,  and  arrange  her  hair. 


1 86  /  SWEAR. 

She  heard  footsteps,  the  door  opened,  Frank  and  her 
lover  appeared. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  a  second,  then  she 
stretched  forth  her  arms,  and  said  :  "  Paul ! " 

He  answered  :  "  Wawona ! "  and  then  they  were  close 
together,  heart  to  heart. 

Frank,  though  completely  forgotten,  was  probably  the 
happiest  "third  person"  the  world  ever  held. 

He  heard,  between  kisses,  "  My  husband  !  "  and  "  My 
wife!"  That  was  enough.  He  immediately  bolted  for 
the  library,  to  tell  his  uncle  and  Mr.  Curtis  of  the  suc- 
cess of  his  plans. 

They  hastily  determined  to  have  Wawona  present  at 
the  interview,  and  to  have  Mr.  Cameron  stationed  in  the 
parlor  directly  opposite,  where  he  could  be  called  at  a 
moment's  notice. 

Frank  delayed  entering  "  paradise,"  as  he  had  mental- 
ly dubbed  Wawona's  boudoir,  during  that  to  him  ever 
memorable  twenty  minutes,  until  he  had,  from  his  out- 
look at  the  front  window,  seen  a  carriage  drive  up  at  pre- 
cisely 4  o'clock,  and  watched  a  hard-faced,  bent-over 
old  man  alight  from  it. 

He  made  all  the  noise  he  could,  as  he  approached  "  par- 
adise." He  knocked  at  the  door,  and  waited  until  he 
heard  a  voice,  evidently  smothered  but  a  short  time  be- 
fore, say,  "  Come  in." 

He  hastily  explained  the  plan  agreed  upon,  and  con- 
ducted them  to  the  floor  below. 

Had  John  Craig  seen  that  trio  coming  down  the  stairs, 
Cameron  with  his  arm  around  Wawona,  and  the  six-foot 
young  man  with  his  arms  around  both,  he  would  have 
saved  himself  the  unhappy  interview. 

As  it  was  he  sat  near  the  door,  waiting  to  see  the  face 
of  his  niece,  the  girl  whom  he  knew  had  been  so  deeply 
wronged.  He  had  expected  to  find  her  in  the  deepest 


I  SWEAR.  187 

distress.  But  as  she  approached  her  uncle — not  noticing 
him,  he  saw,  to  his  surprise,  that  nothing  but  the  som- 
ber hue  of  the  dress  she  wore  betokened  sorrow. 

He  credited  her  with  being  a  wonderful  actress. 

Wawona's  face,  as  she  turned  to  him  when  her  uncle 
said,  "  Wawona,  this  is  Mr.  John  Craig,"  was  a  study. 

She  confessed,  afterward,  that  she  could  hardly  un- 
derstand herself  and  her  own  feelings,  as  she  stood  there 
gazing  at  the  man  who  had  robbed  her  of  her  lineage, 
who  had  at  one  fell  swoop  murdered  her  father  and 
grandfather,  and  ruined  the  life  and  prospects  of  her 
mother.  An  almost  irresistible  desire  to  spring  on  him 
and  tear  him  to  pieces  suddenly  took  possession  of  her, 
but  as  suddenly  gave  way  to  feminine  pity,  for  the  old 
man,  who  had  grown  uneasy  under  her  steady  gaze,  was 
suddenly  convulsed  with  severe  coughing. 

When  he  had  recovered,  he  said : 

"I  presume  we  had  better  proceed  to  business  at  once. 
Mr.  Northrop,  as  you  know,  you  are  estranging  Mrs. 
Morrison  from  her  husband,  my  nephew,  Paul  Craig 
Morrison.  As  I  explained  in  my  letter,  it  is  not  his  de- 
sire to  cause  publicity  in  this  matter,  and  he  has  agreed 
that  if  his  wife  signs  this  quitclaim  deed  to  all  her  in- 
terest in  the  lands  of  the  Cherokee  Nation,  the  control 
of  all  of  which  during  his  lifetime  has  already  passed  to 
Mr.  Morrison,  we  will  leave  this  State,  and  you  can  take 
immediate  steps  to  free  her  from  what  you  deem  an  ob- 
jectionable marriage." 

With  this  he  produced  the  deed  and  added  : 

"  I  have  a  notary  waiting  in  the  carriage." 

Mr.  Northrop  accepted  the  paper  which  Craig  offered 
him,  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  Wawona  prevented 
by  saying  in  the  same  firm  tone  she  had  addressed  to 
Morrison  on  the  night  before : 

"  Sir,  on  my  father's  death-bed  I  swore  never  to  have 


1 88  I  SWEAR. 

any  connection,  in  any  manner  whatsoever,  with  you  or 
yours,  and  I  refuse  to  sign  that  or  any  other  paper  with 
which  you  or  yours  are  connected." 

A  demoniacal  expression  came  over  the  face  of  the 
backwoodsman  as  he  hissed  : 

"  Then  your  husband  will  drag  you  from  this  house,  or 
else  drag  your  name  and  that  of  your  uncle  into  public 
disgrace." 

To  the  surprise  of  all,  a  clear  strong  voice  sounded 
from  the  door. 

"  No,  he  will  not." 

It  was  Paul  Cameron ! 

"  But  if  you  do1  not  leave  this  house  this  instant,  and 
never  address  my  wife  again,  her  husband  will  drag  you 
out,  and  will  revenge  the  deep  wrong  your  devilish 
scheming  has  done  her  people  in  the  past  !  " 

"Paul  Cameron  ?"  the  old  man  gasped,  as  he  turned 
to  see  from  whom  and  whence  the  voice  cams 

"Yes,  Paul  Cameron — and  thank  God  I  became  the 
husband  of  this  poor  girl  ten  minutes  before  she  signed 
that  contract  with  your  rascally  nephew." 

"  My  God — "  gasped  the  old  man  as  he  began  to  cough, 
"  the  fatal  hemorrhage — "  and  blood  burst  from  his  mouth 
in  a  torrent. 

Frank  and  Mr.  Curtis  hastened  to  place  him  on  a 
lounge, while  Mr.  Northrop  hurriedly  instructed  Cameron 
to  take  his  bride  to  her  apartment,  and  then  hastened  to 
telephone  for  a  physician. 

He  might  have  saved  himself  the  trouble. 

The  excitement  had  been  too  much  for  the  old  man. 
Even  the  iron  will  was  not. -.ing  now.  His  malady  had 
conquered.  John  Craig  was  dead  ! 


I  SWEAR.  189 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AFTER  Paul  Morrison  had  arranged  for  the  shipment 
of  his  uncle's  remains  to  Scotland,  he  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  his  own  affairs. 

He  found  from  examination  of  John  Craig's  papers 
that  he  was  made,  by  will,  sole  heir  to  about  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  property,  mainly  in  cattle  and 
live-stock  in  the  Indian  Territory. 

He  delayed  for  a  time,  trying  to  determine  what  course 
he  should  pursue.  He  would  gladly  have  given  a  moiety 
if  not  all  he  possessed  to  have  had  an  opportunity  to 
explain  himself  and  his  part  in  the  unhappy  affair  to 
Fanny  Northrop. 

When  Frank  Jender  had  come  to  him  and  asked  for 
the  book  containing  the  contract  which  the  minister  had 
caused  him  and  Wawona  to  sign,  he  had  been  on  the 
point  of  stating  his  position  with  reference  to  Fanny. 

But  pride  stepped  in  and  he  contented  himself  by 
saying : 

"  I  trust  you  will  inform  Mr.  Northrop  that  I  was  not 
aware  of  any  of  my  uncle's  reasons  for  action,  and  that 
knowing  as  I  now  do  their  malignity,  I  am  ready  to  do ' 
anything  in  my  power  to  relieve  Mrs.  Cameron  from  any 
injury  occasioned  by  me  or  him  in  my  name.  Pray  bear 
to  both  Paul  Cameron  and  his  wife  my  sincere  regrets 
over  the  unenviable  part  I  was  compelled  to  act  in  the 
tragedy,  and  say  that  I  hope  to  show  them  and  you  all 
that  I  am  not  such  a  villain  as  my  unexplained  actions 
now  proclaim  me." 

"  I  will  do  so,  and  permit  me  to  thank  you  very  much 
for  this  book,"  Frank  answered.  His  joy  at  obtaining 


T 90  I  SWEAR. 

that  one  and  only  piece  of  adverse  evidence  of  Cameron's 
marriage  for  the  time  being,  prevented  him  from  thor- 
oughly understanding  the  depths  of  Morrison's  sorrow. 

But  he  hastened  to  add,  as  he  took  his  hand  : 

"  Mr.  Morrison,  your  actions  for  the  last  two  weeks 
certainly  entitle  you  to  belief.  I  shall  deliver  your  mes- 
sage and  can  truthfully  say,  I  pity  you  with  all  my  heart." 

Subsequently  Morrison  was  several  times  on  the  point 
of  hunting  up  Frank  Jender  with  a  view  of  righting  him- 
self, but  he  always  met  obstacles,  raised  by  his  own 
doubts.  Principal  among  these  was  the  fact  that  he  was 
not  certain  that  Fanny  Northrop  still  retained  any  inter- 
est in  him. 

Her  absence  from  the  wedding  he  felt  could  be 
explained  on  two  theories  :  either  that  she  had  come 
to  hate  him,  and  so  did  not  care  to  see  him  again  ;  or  that 
she  still  loved  him  as  madly  and  as  vainly  as  he  did  her, 
and  so  could  not  bear  to  see  him  married  to  another. 

Working  on  his  old  idea  that  their  minds  were  proto- 
typical, he  had  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  the  latter 
theory  was  the  correct  one,  but  the  memory  of  the 
innuendo  in  her  last  letter  received  at  Eton,  and  the 
thought  that  she  had  not  answered  his  letter  to  her  in 
answer  to  it,  wherein  he  had  covertly  offered  to  return 
to  Boston  should  she  give  him  encouragement,  made 
him  hastily  dispel  that  hope,  and  accept  as  a  certainty  the 
conclusion  that  his  apparent  two-facedness  had  effaced 
from  her  mind  such  affection  as  she  may  have  had  for 
him  in  the  days  of  long  ago. 

Had  he  but  known  that  within  those  two  weeks  Fanny 
Northrop  had  been  several  times  on  the  verge  of  writing 
to  assure  him  she  now  thoroughly  understood  his  actions 
and  realized  that  he  had  loved  her  ever  since  that  night  in 
the  "den,"  and  that  she  was  only  deterred  from  doing  so 
by  remembering  that  the  last  letter  she  had  written  him 


I  SWEAR.  191 

in  answer  to  his  note  asking  permission  to  return,  where- 
in she  had  tacitly  opened. her  heart  to  him,  (the  document 
which  Frank  burned)  had  remained  wholly  unnoticed,  he 
would  have  hesitated  not  a  moment  longer,  but  would 
have  saved  himself  and  the  only  woman  his  erratic  will 
had  ever  permitted  him  to  love  much  unhappy  loneli- 
ness. 

Had  Frank  Jender  known  that  his  action  in  destroy- 
ing the  letter,  handed  to  him  by  Parker  that  blizzardy 
night,  had  created  the  one  insoluble  problem  in  the 
minds  of  those  two  now  thoroughly  miserable  lovers, 
which,  because  of  its  incapability  of  solution,  left  each  to 
think  that  the  love  for  the  other  was  in  vain,  and  there- 
fore so  servile  as  to  be  regretted,  he  would  have  waived 
all  thoughts  of  chagrin  at  being  compelled  to  confess1  in- 
termeddling, and  told  all  he  knew. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

WHEN  the  excitement  attendant  on  the  clearing  up 
of  the  record  of  Wawona's  marriage  with  Paul  Cameron, 
and  the  completion  of  their  arrangements  for  an  extend- 
ed bridal  tour  were  over,  Frank  Jender  found  himself  in 
almost  daily  consultation  with  Fanny's  father,  trying  to 
evolve  some  scheme  to  divert  Fanny's  mind  and  remove 
the  unhappy  tendency  she  had  developed  of  shunning 
society  and  allowing  free  vent  to  a  morbid  desire  to  be 
alone. 

At  last  they  determined  on  a  second  trip  to  California. 

Her  aunt  had  written,  inviting  her  to  make  another 
visit,  and  at  their  suggestion  she  had  accepted. 

Fanny  had  been  an  absorbing  study  to  herself.    She 


192  /  SWEAR. 

was  much  astonished  at  the  depth  of  her  own  feelings, 
having  always  maintained  to  herself  that  her  active  mind 
could  develop  enough  light  and  trivial  amusement  to  dis- 
tract it  from  any  sorrow.  But  the  omnipresent  thought 
that  she  was  losing  the  one  soul  thoroughly  in  unison 
with  her  own — whose  very  peculiarities  precluded  the 
hope  of  there  ever  existing  another  such  peculiar  one  — 
overpowered  even  the  activity  of  her  mind,  and  left  her 
but  a  sorry  phantom  of  her  old  gay  self. 

Pride  had  forced  her  to  keep  up  a  little  external  show 
of  life,  but  the  very  emptiness  of  her  artificial  happiness 
made  her  more  disheartened. 

And  as  this  invitation  of  her  aunt  gave  her  an  op- 
portunity to  enter  an  entirely  different  society,  where 
her  acquaintances  would  not  be  constantly  contrasting 
her  present  moodiness  with  her  past  liveliness,  she  ac- 
cepted it  gladly. 

Within  a  month  after  Wawona's  marriage,  and  about 
a  week  after  Morrison's  departure  for  Indian  Territory 
to  administer  upon  the  affairs  of  his  uncle,  or  rather,  now 
that  he  was  the  heir,  his  own  personal  properties,  the 
overland  train  was  once  more  carrying  Fanny  Northrop 
toward  California. 

Amos  Northrop  had  written  his  sister  a  full  account  of 
the  incidents  attendant  upon  the  marriage  of  Wawona 
and  Paul  Cameron,  and  Fanny's  connection  therewith, 
and  had  given  her  the  final  injunction  : 

"  By  all  means  do  not  permit  Fanny  to  see  or  meet 
this  Mr.  Morrison.  My  main  idea  in  sending  her  to  you 
is  to  take  her  away  from  her  present  surroundings, 
where  everything  reminds  her  of  him,  and  to  put  her 
amid  new  surroundings  and  with  new  people,  where,  I 
hope,  she  can  once  more  gradually  become  her  dear  old 
self." 


7  SWEAR.  193 

He  knew  his  sister's  nature,  and  was  assured  that  his 
wish  would  be  respected  as  law. 

Fanny  was  once  more  installed  in  the  same  rooms 
she  had  occupied  on  her  former  visit. 

So  soon  as  she  had  donned  a  home  dress  she  went 
down  to  her  aunt's  study,  to  nestle  up  to  her  on  a  huge 
divan,  ready  for  a  long  talk. 

Mrs.  Gaylord  was  not  in  unison  with  her  brother's 
sturdy,  straight-laced  Bostonian  notions  of  propriety, 
and  she  found  herself  very  much  interested  in  the  man 
Morrison,  even  from  Mr.  Northrop's  biased  description 
of  him. 

Ordinarily  she  would  have  been  so  interested  in  him, 
and  in  Fanny's  connection  with  him,  that  she  would 
have  spared  no  pains  to  hunt  him  up,  and  for  herself 
find  out  exactly  his  feelings  toward  Fanny.  But  now 
that  her  brother  had  written  her  concerning  his  wishes 
so  plainly,  she  concluded  to  follow  the  principle  taught 
her  in  her  business  life — "  Obey  orders,  though  you  break 
owners." 

She  never  had  any  secrets  from  Fanny,  and  so,  as  soon 
as  they  had  finished  their  preliminary  talk  about  the 
thousand  and  one  little  things  which  suggest  themselves 
to  friends  who  have  been  separated  for  a  long  time,  she 
brought  out  her  brother's  letter  and  handed  it  to  her 
niece. 

She  had  hoped  that  Fanny  would  make  a  confidante  of 
her.  She  said  not  a  word  while  Fanny  was  reading  the 
letter.  Fanny  gave  a  sweet  though  sad  smile  as  she  read 
her  father's  good  old  Puritanical  idea  of  her  Paul's 
scheming  (?)  to  win  her  affections. 

"  Poor  papa,"  she  finally  said  ;  "  the  dear  old  thing  has 
not  the  least  idea  how  worldly-wise  you  and  my  Cali- 
fornia trip  taught  me  to  be." 

Then  came  a  sigh  and  a  silence. 


i94  /  SWEAR. 

She  finally  threw  off  the  mood  with  a  shrug  of  her 
shoulders,  and  said,  looking  at  her  aunt  with  the  nearest 
return  to  the  old  twinkle  in  her  eye  which  that  organ  had 
shown  for  a  long  time  : 

"  Aunt  Florence,  do  you  know  you  were  the  cause  of 
my  falling  in  love  with  Paul  Morrison  ?  " 

"  I  ?    You  odd  girl,  how  ?     I  never  saw  the  man." 

"  Well,  you  made  me  peculiar,  and  he  is  peculiar  in 
just  the  same  way.  One  of  those  fellows  it  is  a  relief 
to  find,  who  thinks  for  himself.  He  has  a  few  general 
broad  principles  on  which  he  is  firm,  and  while  using 
which  he  is  in  dead  earnest ;  but  when  not,  easily  and 
carelessly  assumes  the  airs  and  ways  of  the  average  soci- 
ety man,  keeping  from  all  but  the  favored  few  who  know 
him  the  fact  that  this  society  air  is  his  artificial  self,  and 
that  the  true  man  is  hidden  by  that  artificiality." 

"Just  the  sort  of  man  to  completely  disgust  your 
father." 

"Exactly;  because  it  would  take  him  so  long  to  know 
him.  You  see,  father  is  so  wrapped  up  in  the  theory  of 
doing  things  because  it  is  the  'right  thing'  to  do  them, 
and  of  not  doing  things  because  '  people  will  talk,'  that 
it  would  take  him  a  dreadfully  long  time  to  know  Paul  as 
he  really  is  ;  but  if  he  ever  should,  I  know  he  would  re- 
spect him  for  the  good,  sound  principles  he  has  under- 
lying his  actions." 

"  No,  Fanny,  you  cannot  tell  whether  he  would  or  not. 
It  is  very  hard  to  overturn  prejudices  inculcated  by  a 
lifelong  training,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  but  he  likes  me,  does  n't  he  ? " 

"  But  if  he  had  a  son  about  to  marry  you  would  he  like 
you  for  a  daughter-in-law  ?  " 

That  was  a  new  way  of  putting  it.     It  made  her  think. 

"  No,  and  yes.  He  would  not  want  me  if  he  only  knew 
me  in  society,  but  he  would  if  he  actually  knew  me.  And 


/  SWEAR.  195 

that  is  just  the  way  with  Paul  Morrison.  I  know  papa 
likes  me  now,  so  he  would  Paul  if  he  really  knew  him  ; 
for  we  are  the  very  prototypes  of  each  other,  so  far  as 
mentality  is  concerned. 

"  Honestly,  Aunt  Florence,  you  would  be  astonished  to 
see  how  two  minds,  brought  up  under  completely  differ- 
ent surroundings,  should  have  the  same  peculiarities,  and 
should  have  arrived  at  so  many  peculiar  theories  which 
were  almost  identically  the  same." 

"  Fanny,  you  interest  me  very  much.  But  your  dear 
old  Bostonese  father  has  this  affair  in  hand,  so  we  must 
obey  orders.  I  suggest  that  we  talk  Morrison  over  fully 
tonight,  and  then  let  him  become  a  tabooed  subject  for- 
ever after." 

"All  right,  dear,"  Fanny  answered,  as  she  kissed  her 
aunt.  Then,  after  a  moment's  hesitation  she  gave  her 
a  general  description  of  the  gentleman  and  his  mental 
peculiarities  as  she  knew  him. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MRS.  GAYLORD  found  Fanny  much  changed. 

There  was  a  subdued  tone  to  the  vivacity  the  girl  tried 
to  display  to  her  friends,  which  showed  to  the  aunt  how 
much  she  had  suffered. 

Fanny  was  going  through  the  same  experience  Morri- 
son had  on  his  ocean  trip,  while  he  was  trying  to  drive 
her  from  his  mind.  Every  thought  seemed  to  have  con- 
nected with  it  something  which  brought  him  back  to 
her. 

For  distraction  she  dabbled  in  society  in  a  dilletante 
way,  but  felt  that  she  had  become  blase".  It  was  like  drink- 
ing cider  after  having  had  champagne. 


196  I  SWEAR. 

At  last  her  cousin  Fred  bought  a  yacht  and  became  an 
enthusiastic  member  of  the  Pacific  Yacht  Club.  She 
thought  outdoor  life  would  be  a  distraction,  and  so  joined 
him  with  equal  enthusiasm  in  his  ambition  to  make  the 
"  Sea  Foam  "  the  handsomest  boat  in  the  fleet.  All  her 
spare  time  was  spent  in  working  silk  banners  and  design- 
ing new  schemes  in  the  way  of  decorations  for  the  yacht. 

She  spent  about  half  her  time  with  Fred  over  at  Sau- 
celito,  a  little  town  across  from  San  Francisco,  where  the 
"  Sea  Foam  "  was  anchored  at  the  house  of  the  club.  By 
the  time  Fred  began  to  plan  for  his  summer's  cruise  she 
had  become  quite  "  aquatic,"  as  she  expressed  it. 

To  Fred's  surprise,  she  actually  talked  his  mother  into 
chaperoning  a  party  for  a  trip  down  the  coast  as  far 
as  Los  Angeles.  Mrs.  Gaylord  had  a  summer  cottage 
near  the  sea-shore  at  Santa  Monica,  and  Fanny  arranged 
for  their  party  to  go  down  by  water,  stopping  at  Monte- 
rey, Santa  Cruz,  Santa  Barbara  and  other  seaside  resorts 
on  their  way. 

There,  at  Santa  Monica,  she  had  almost  persuaded 
herself  into  feeling  that  she  had  completely  forgotten 
Morrison,  until  one  morning  as  she  swam  out  to  the 
raft,  she  noticed  a  man  swimming  toward  her  with  the 
same  long,  strong,  powerful  stroke  he  used  to  have  that 
summer  she  spent  with  him  four  years  before  at  Bar  Har- 
bor. 

"  Can  I  never  forget  him  ?  "  she  thought. 

Her  whole  life  of  that  season  came  back  to  her,  and 
she  sat  there  on  the  raft  in  the  balmy,  soft,  California 
July  morning,  day-dreaming,  until  Fred  happened  to  no- 
tice her,  and  called : 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  do,  Fanny,  bake  your  com- 
plexion ? " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  slid  softly  down  into  the  water, 
and  with  a  long,  easy,  graceful  stroke  slowly  swam  back 


I  SW&AR.  197 

to  shore.     Then  she  picked  up  the  morning  paper  and 
strolled  down  to  a  secluded  spot  on  the  beach,  where  hav- 
ing arranged  herself  behind  a  huge  sunshade,  she  unfolded 
the  paper  and  lazily  began  to  read  it. 
As  luck  would  have  it  a  little  sonnet  caught  her  eye : 

"  Tell  me,  O  Time,  the  utmost  of  thine  art, 
Thy  wondrous  healing  art  that  men  so  praise  ; 
For  which  no  feat  too  hard  is,  but  to  raise 
The  dead  once  more  and  lost  life  re-impart. 
Men  say  that  thou  canst  ease  the  burdened  heart, 
And  bring  new  dower  of  light  to  darksome  days, 
And  new  companionships  to  lonely  ways, 
New  joys  whose  charms  hold  back  the  tears  that  start. 
Hast  thou  no  cup  save  cold  Lethean  draught, 
Which  blots  the  past  when  I  its  virtues  drain  ? 
Give  me  the  wine  of  love  that  once  I  quaffed, 
Tho'  but  in  dream  I'll  drink  it  once  again. 
No  comfort  may  I  find  in  all  that  craft 
If  death  of  love  alone  can  heal  love's  pain." 

Fate  seemed  possessed  that  morning ;  everything 
tended  to  bring  her  thoughts  to  him,  and  she  again  un- 
consciously became  lost  in  sad  reveries,  fancies  in  which 
there  were  intermingled  yearnings  for  the  man  of  her 
heart,  or  at  all  events  of  her  thought. 

"  Why  should  not  fate  send  him  to  me  here  ? "  she 
found  her  heart  saying.  "  In  this  perfectly  lazy,  lover-like 
weather :  in  this  perfectly  lazy,  dear  old  humdrum  town, 
midst  these  perfectly  lazy,  uninteresting,  society  nonen- 
tities." 

Something  seemed  to  have  given  her  a  premonition,  for 
she  was  interrupted  by  Fred's  voice — 

"  Ahoy  ihere,  behind  the  red  sunshade  !  Am  I  spoil- 
ing a  spooning  match  ? " 

"  Only  one  with  my  memories,  Fred,"  she  answered, 
and  liftmg  the  sunshade  turned  to  see  why  he  had  hunted 
her  up. 


198  I  SWEAR. 

"  Guess  what  I  have  for  you  ? " 

"  Can't,"  she  said  listlessly,  her  whole  nature  having 
been  so  wrapped  up  in  her  thoughts  of  a  moment  before 
that  she  could  not  command  the  force  necessary  to  as- 
sume an  artificial  interest. 

"  V/ell,  I  have  a  letter  for  you  from  Los  Angeles  in  a 
strange  man's  hand,"  he  said,  as  he  tossed  it  to  her. 

It  was  lucky  for  her  that  she  missed  it,  and  that  it  fell 
with  the  direction  down,  for  had  Fred  not  turned  away 
before  her  eyes  caught  the  address,  he  would  have  seen 
the  blood  leave  her  face  so  suddenly  that  she  nearly 
fainted. 

The  address  was  in  Morrison's  handwriting  ! 

It  seemed  to  her  as  though  she  could  almost  hear  her 
heart  beat,  it  throbbed  so  violently. 

With  a  mighty  effort  at  composure  she  called  after 
him : 

"Thank  you  awfully,  Fred.  I  suppose  I  must  dress 
for  luncheon." 

She  hurried  to  her  room  at  the  bath-house  as  rapidly 
as  she  could  without  attracting  attention. 

When  she  was  at  last  safely  alone  she  found  herself 
almost  too  nervous  to  break  open  the  envelope. 

It  read  : 

"  HOLLENBECK  HOTEL,  LOS  ANGELES. 

"  I  thought  fate  had  intended  I  should  return  to  Kng 
land  without  having  had  an  opportunity  to  explain  t& 
you  how  she  had  forced  me  to  play  the  unhappy,  almost 
unmanly  part  I  have  in  your  life  and  that  of  your  cousin. 

"  With  that  idea  in  mind  I  arrived  in  Los  Angeles  this 
morning  en  route  home,  via  Portland,  Tacoma  and  the 
Canadian  Pacific.  As  luck  would  have  it,  I  picked  up 
the  morning  paper,  where  to  my  astonishment  almost 
the  first  article  which  caught  my  eye  was  the  announce- 


/  SWEAR.  199 

ment  from  Santa  Monica  that  'Fred  Gaylord brought 
down  a  party  from  San  Francisco  in  his  new  yacht  "  Sea 
Foam."  Mrs.  Gaylord  intends  to  spend  the  summer  at 
her  cottage  in  Santa  Monica,  and  will  probably  entertain 
extensively,  assisted  by  her  niece,  Miss  Fanny  Northrop, 
of  Boston.' 

.  "  Both  of  us  always  were  fatalists.  Hence  the  pecu- 
liar coincidence  of  our  both  being  in  this  out-of-the-way 
country  so  unexpectedly  at  the  same  time,  gives  me  the 
hope  that  fate  has,  at  last,  offered  me  an  opportunity  to 
right  myself  before  you,  and  that  I  may  go  back  to  my 
country  knowing  that  you  at  least  understand  me,  and  the 
reasons  for  my  unfortunate  actions. 

"  I  write  to  ask  you  to  grant  me  an  interview.  I 
assure  you  on  the  word  of  a  gentleman  that  I  will  merely 
detain  you  long  enough  to  explain  my  position,  so  that 
you  may  learn  to  think  of  me  without  loathing. 

"  I  had  intended  remaining  in  Los  Angeles  but  one 
day.  I  will  now  stay  here  two,  to  await  your  decision. 

"  In  memory  of  our  many  happy  moments  together  at 
Bar  Harbor  that  summer  and  in  Boston  afterwards,  grant 
me  an  opportunity  to  regain  an  honorable  standing 
in  your  mind. 

"Yours  faithfully, 

"PAUL  MORRISON. 

"Los  ANGELES,  July  7,  18— " 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said  half  aloud  as  she  kissed  the  let- 
ter, "  if  fate  has  relented." 

All  sentimentality,  however,  gave  way  before  the  prac- 
tical problem,  where  to  meet  him. 

Of  course  she  could  not  see  him  at  the  house — her 
aunt  would  not  permit  it.  What  should  she  do  ?  She 
stopped  in  her  dressing,  she  was  so  engrossed  with  her 
thoughts. 


200  /  SWEAR. 

Finally  a  happy  thought  struck  her. 

She  remembered,  as  it  was  full  moon,  the  weather  so 
balmy  and  soft,  and  the  nights  so  lovely,  that  Fred  and 
the  manager  of  the  hotel  had  arranged  for  a  moonlight 
swim  from  the  beach  that  evening. 

The  facts  that  both  she  and  Morrison  were  excellent 
swimmers,  that  she  was  the  only  lady  who  had  ever  swum 
to  the  outer  raft  near  where  the  "  Sea  Foam "  lay 
anchored,  that  few  of  the  gentlemen  ever  swam  out 
there  even  in  the  day-time,  that  moonlight  swims  gener- 
ally meant  lolling  on  the  beach  or  merely  playing  in 
shallow  water, — all  came  to  her,  and  left  her  to  reason 
that  the  outer  raft  would  be  the  one  place  where  she  and 
he  could  be  alone  without  her  aunt  knowing  of  it. 

Her  mind  was  made  up  at  once ;  the  raft  was  the  place. 

How  was  she  to  get  him  word  ?  She  studied  over  the 
matter  while  dressing,  and  determined  to  telegraph  him. 

With  this  idea  in  view  she  embraced  the  first  oppor- 
tunity to  withdraw  from  the  party  without  attracting 
attention,  and  hastened  to  the  telegraph  office. 

"  PAUL  MORRISON, 

"  Hollenbeck  Hotel, 

"  Los  Angeles. 

"  Come  down  tonight.  Call  for  letter  in  general  post 
office  here. 

"FANNY." 

She  knew  that  he  would  arrive  at  thirty-five  minutes 
past  four  that  afternoon,  and  that  in  the  mean  time  she 
could  evolve  the  details  of  her  plan. 

After  considerable  thought  she  determined  to  write 
him  to  meet  her  at  the  raft.  His  letter  had  no  super- 
scription so  she  decided  to  have  none.  She  mailed  the 


/  SWEAR.  201 

letter  herself,  and  then  went  home  to  wonder  what  that 
night  was  to  bring  forth. 
She  said  in  the  letter  : 

"Our  motto  in  our  halcyon  days  was  'Give  fate  a 
chance.'  I  have  concluded  to  do  so  now,  as  I  confess  I 
would  like  to  have  a  more  pleasant  memory  of  you. 

"My  father  gave  my  aunt  instructions  not  to  let  me 
see,  hear  or  think  of  you.  Therefore,  we  must  be  dis- 
creet. 

"  My  cousin  and  the  people  at  the  hotel  give  a  moon- 
light swim  on  the  beach  from  eight  to  ten  tonight. 

"There  is  a  raft  anchored  near  a  white  yacht  in  the 
harbor.  I  will  be  on  that  raft  at  nine  o'clock  sharp.  It 
is  so  far  out  that  none  of  the  ladies  saving  myself  ever 
dare  swim  out  to  it,  and  is  the  only  place  I  can  think  of 
where  I  can  meet  you  alone  without  exciting  suspicion. 
"  Till  then  I  am 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

"  FANNY  NORTHROP." 

"SANTA  MONICA,  July  7,  18— " 

Paul  Morrison  had  gone  through  a  very  trying  experi- 
ence during  the  ,ast  year. 

Whatever  John  Craig's  faults  had  been,  he  certainly 
was  very  thoughtiu;  of  his  nephew  in  a  worldly  way. 
The  will  province:  for  him  to  form  a  corporation  with  some 
speculators ::?.  New  Mexico  who  owned  an  ••r.idivided  share 
with  his  uncle  in  a  large  range,  ,:.d  a  stock  a:id  cattle 
business. 

Mjrrhon  found  plenty  cf  detail  to  engage  his  mind, 
carrying  o v,t  a:is  uncled  plans..  He  seemed  to  be  under 
a  lucky  si:a:  ::o  far  as  busines;  war;  concerned  •  for,  as 
soon  as  he  h:ii!  waiters  wel  in  h~ncV  -nn  opportunity  pre- 
sented itself  to  seJil  a  co-.iitreling  interest  to  an  English 


202  /  SWEAR. 

syndicate.  He  completed  the  negotiations  and  was  thus 
enabled  to  return  to  Europe  with  a  large  ready  cash  capi- 
tal and  an  assured  incone. 

With  possibilities  for  leisure  came  plans  for  tiie  future. 

Then  the  pent-ap  memories  which  his  active  business 
life  had  been  holding  in  check  came  bursting  upon  him 
with  irresistible  impulse. 

He  had  heard  no  word  from  Fanny  Northrop  since 
the  receipt  of  that  long  delayed  letter  at  Eton,  yet  he 
lo^ed  for  one  more  opportunity  to  hear  that  happy  mel- 
lifluent voice,  to  see  the  sparkle  of  those  eyes  as  she  gave 
some  original  response  in  her  vivacious  way,  and  to  ex- 
perience that  feeling  of  complete  unison  which  had  made 
her  companionship  so  agreeable  to  him. 

But  he  dashed  all  such  thoughts  aside  as  not  to  be 
dreamed  cf,  when  he  remembered  that  his  letter  making 
advances  in  that  direction  had  been  unanswered. 

He  stoically  determined  to  give  up  all  hope  for  domes- 
tic happiness,  and  to  return  to  his  home  and  devote  him- 
self to  the  life  of  a  man  of  letters. 

****** 

After  sending  his  letter  to  Fanny  Northrop  at  Santa 
Monica,  Morrison  roamed  around  Los  Angeles  in  a  ner- 
vous sort  of  a  way,  scarcely  knowing  what  to  do  with 
himself.  He  tried  all  sortc  of  expedients  ;  even  going  so 
far  as  to  permit  one  of  the  cohort  of  real  estate  agents 
infesting  that  otherwise  lovely  city  to  get  an  impression 
that  he  was  a  prospective  purchaser. 

In  vain,  however ;  for,  between  rhetorical  phrases  des- 
criptive of  "  heaven-sent  climate,"  and  hard  business 
expressions  of  "  cheapest  corner  in  the  city  ;  double  it- 
self in  a  month,"  he  found  his  thoughts  sandwiching  in 
conjectures  about  the  possibilities  of  an  answer  to  his 
note. 

At  last  the  telegram  arrived. 


I  SWEAR.  203 

His  real  estate  friend  would  have  been  sure  that  the 
expression  of  happiness  which  lighted  his  face,  after  read- 
ing it,  meant  news  of  the  receipt  of  a  fortune,  had  he 
been  given  time  to  do  so,  before  Morrison  hastened  to 
the  clerk  of  the  hotel  to  ask  what  time  the  next  train 
started  for  Santa  Monica. 

On  the  train,  Morrison  had  been  counting  the  seconds, 
and  each  second  seemed  to  him  a  minute.  After  he  had 
rushed  to  the  postoffice  at  Santa  Monica,  and  found  out 
Fanny's  arrangement  for  the  meeting,  each  second 
lengthened  itself  into  an  hour. 

He  dared  not  let  himself  think  of  what  the  night  might 
bring  forth,  for  fear  that  hope,  "  which  springs  eternal 
in  the  human  breast,"  would  build  air-castles,  which, 
when  broken,  should  add  another  wound  to  his  already 
much-scarred  heart. 

It  might  have  been  a  little  comfort  to  him  had  he  known 
that  she  who  was  the  cause  of  all  this  nervous  expec- 
tation was  in  exactly  the  same  condition.  Which  of  the 
two  awaited  the  slow  advance  of  time  toward  the  ap- 
pointed hour  with  the  greater  impatience,  would  have 
been  hard  to  determine. 

About  eight  o'clock  Morrison  sauntered  down  to  the 
beach,  and  found  quite  a  party  gathered  there. 

A  huge  canvas  had  been  stretched  for  a  canopy,  and 
formed  a  sort  of  open  pavilion  on  the  beach,  wherein  the 
chaperones  could  enjoy  themselves  planning  matches, 
while  their  proteges  were  wandering  down  the  moonlit 
beach,  or  leisurely  floating  on  the  brine,  trying  to  render 
their  chaperones'  plans  futile. 

The  tent  was  gaily  decorated  with  colored  lights  and 
Chinese  lanterns.  At  one  end  a  string  band,  composed 
largely  of  a  harpist  and  several  Mexican  mandolin  art- 
ists, discoursed  odd  Spanish  waltzes  and  soft  Italian 


204  I  SWEAR. 

melodies.  Not  a  breath  of  air  seemed  moving  on  the 
beach. 

Los  Angeles  does  have  some  of  the  balmiest,  most 
charmingly  soft  evenings  and  nights.  They  remind  the 
traveler  of  the  South  Sea  tropics. 

This  particular  night  was  especially  warm  and  delight- 
ful, even  for  Los  Angeles. 

The  most  enthusiastic  land  boomer,  at  the  height  of 
his  rhetorical  enthusiasm,  would  have  been  unable  to 
have  exaggerated  its  loveliness. 

It  was  the  kind  of  a  night  that  leads  the  sentimental 
love-sick  swain  into  beguiling  her  who  is  the  idol  of  his 
heart  to  some  sheltered  corner,  there,  a  la  Claude  Mel- 
notte,  to  pour  into  her  willing  ear  quotations  from  the 
passionate  Lorenzo, 

"  In  such  a  night  as  this, 
When  the  sweet  wind  did  gently  kiss  the  trees, 
And  they  did  make  no  noise — in  such  a  night 
Troilus,  methbJcs,  mounted  the  Trojan  walls 
And  sighed  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tents 
Where  Cressid  lay  that  night." 

Very  little  more  of  this  sort  of  thing,  and  Morrison 
could  have  closed  his  eyes  and  fancied  himself  carried 
into  fairyland. 

However,  the  poor  fellow  deemed  it  best  to  keep  him- 
self as  much  in  the  background  as  possible,  and  watch 
the  others. 

Finally,  from  sheer  nervousness,  although  it  was  fully 
twenty  minutes  before  the  appointed  time,  he  took  to  the 
water  to  try  the  distance  to  the  outer  raft.  He  was  a 
gallant  swimmer,  but  he  acknowledged  to  himself  that  it 
was  a  big  swim.  Hardly  had  he  accustomed  himself  to 
the  situation,  when  he  heard  some  one  making  for  the 
raft. 


I  SWEAR.  205 

"We  are  not  to  be  alone.  The  fates  are  not  kind,"  he 
thought,  as  he  prepared  to  strike  out  for  the  shore. 

All  at  once  the  peculiar,  graceful,  sinuous  stroke 
seemed  familiar  to  him.  He  strained  his  eyes  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  daring  swimmer. 

"Yes.     It  was  she  !  " 

How  his  heart  leaped.  He  could  hardly  contain  him- 
self as  he  waited  for  her  to  come  closer. 

As  she  approached  he  leaned  forward  to  assist  her  to 
the  raft. 

"Miss  Northrop,  let  me  help  you.  You  are  very  kind." 

"Thank  you,"  was  all  she  could  manage  to  say,  the 
long  swim  having  nearly  exhausted  her  breath. 

But  that  dear  tone  of  that  dear  voice  made  those  two 
words  more  eloquent  to  him  than  the  most  beautifully 
balanced  flourish  the  most  finished  rhetorician  could 
have  used. 

While  she  regained  her  breath  he  sat  watching  her, 
drinking  in  the  sight  of  her  comely  outlines,  and  gazing 
at  that  bright  face  with  a  look  of  affectionate  interest, 
which  gave  him  a  completely  changed  expression. 

"  This  was  very  kind  of  you,  Miss  Northrop,"  he  finally 
repeated. 

"  Not  at  all.  Our  feelings  in  this  matter  are  mutual ; 
I  wanted  to  have  a  chance  to  ask  you  some  questions 
also,"  she  answered,  and  then  waited  for  him  to  com- 
mence. 

"Miss  Northrop,"  he  began,  trying  bravely  but  inef- 
fectually not  to  permit  his  feelings  to  cause  his  voice  to 
quiver,  "  I  have  asked  for  an  interview  so  that  I  can  re- 
turn to  my  old  home,  knowing  that  you  understand  the 
cause  for  my  actions.  I  am  not  going  to  be  melodra- 
matic, nor  permit  myself  any  display  of  the  feelings  which 
you  must  know  I  have  in  check  this  instant.  I  am  going 
to  tell  a  plain,  unvarnished  tale. 


206  I  SWEAR. 

"  From  my  relations  toward  you,  and  my  last  letter 
from  Eton,  you  must  know  how  much  I  have  been  inter- 
ested in  you.  My  unhappy  connection  with  the  lady 
who  is  now  Mrs.  Cameron  has,  of  course,  left  you  with 
the  impression  that  I  am  a  miserable,  scheming  scamp, 
if  that  expression  is  harsh  enough.  I  am  fearful,  also, 
that  you  think  me  a  hypocrite.  I  want  to  do  myself  the 
justice  to  have  you  thoroughly  understand  my  position, 
for,  believe  me,  your  opinion  of  me  is  of  more  importance 
than  everything  else  in  the  world. 

"  I  will  try  to  be  brief.  From  the  time  of  my  father's 
death  I  was  trained  with  but  two  ideas  :  one  to  develop 
my  will  power  over  the  control  of  mental  action  ;  the 
other  that  my  uncle,  John  Craig,  whom  I  had  never  seen, 
was  so  much  my  benefactor  that  he  was  entitled  to  my 
reverence,  respect  and  gratitude. 

"  He  furnished  my  mother  with  the  financial  means  of 
giving  me  a  University  education.  At  my  graduation  I 
tendered  him  my  thanks  and  my  services. 

"  To  my  great  surprise,  he  accepted  the  latter,  and  an- 
nounced that  he  desired  I  should  go  to  America  and 
marry  Wawona  Brooke,  merely  explaining  that  by  so  do- 
ing I  would  be  uniting  two  adverse  titles  to  the  Chero- 
kee lands,  one  of  which  he  already  held. 

"He  enjoined  secrecy,  particularly  of  my  relationship 
to  him ;  as  I  then  thought,  merely  to  expedite  his  scheme 
for  a  title. 

"You  know  the  rest  of  my  story.  How  Wawona 
Brooke  became  interested  in  me  because  of  my  resem- 
blance to  my  cousin,  her  former  lover.  Of  her  love  for 
him,  of  course,  I  then  knew  nothing.  I  did  respect  Miss 
Brooke  most  highly.  In  fact,  had  I  not  met  you  I  feel 
I  should  never  have  known  that  I  had  not  cared  for  her 
as  much  as  my  peculiar  mind  could  care  for  any  one.  In 
truth,  had  not  that  last  unhappy  scene  with  your  father 


I  SWEAR.  207 

brought  me  to  a  realization  of  my  feelings  toward  you, 
I  would  probably  never  have  known  that  my  will  power 
would  have  permitted  me  to  love  any  one." 

He  stopped.  She  had  not  said  one  word,  but  had 
maintained  an  earnest  interest.  An  almost  irresistible 
desire  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  took  possession  of  him  ; 
he  overcame  it,  however,  and  continued  : 

"  How  our  friendship  grew,  you  know  as  well  as  I. 
The  peculiar  traits  of  mentality  which  my  will  gave  me, 
you  had  acquired  by  some  other  means.  I  have  always 
felt  that  it  was  greatly  owing  to  the  influence  of  your 
aunt.  Your  ready  appreciation  of  every  reference  ;  your 
intuitive  comprehension  of  every  thought ;  in  fact,  our 
complete  similarity  of  mental  action  from  the  first,  made 
you  an  exquisite  study  to  me.  I  had  no  idea,  however, 
of  being  untrue  to  you  or  to  Wawona. 

"  After  I  had,  in  my  blind  following  of  the  dictates 
of  my  will,  heedless  of  my  great  interest  in  you,  proposed 
to  Wawona,  we  had  that  scene  in  the  'den.'  That  night 
I  saw  it  all.  I  understood  that  God  had  made  me  appre- 
ciate you  more  than  would  be  wise  for  me  to  attempt  to 
explain — possibly,  as  a  punishment  for  having,  in  my 
confidence  in  my  own  will,  permitted  myself  to  have  a 
reckless  lack  of  appreciation  of  the  divinity  of  His  power. 
As  I  say,  that  night  I  had  a  most  peculiar  contest  be- 
tween natural,  spontaneous  love  and  hard,  worldly  com- 
mon sense.  I  knew  I  had  already  antagonized  your 
father,  and  I  had  already  spoken  to  Wawona.  If  I  had 
then  withdrawn  from  my  engagement,  your  father's  an- 
tagonism would  have  been  increased,  and  Wawona's  feel- 
ings would,  have  been  outraged.  At  the  same  time,  I 
would  have  estranged  my  vindictive  uncle,  and  would 
thus  have  completely  cut  off  my  revenue  and  effectually 
have  prevented  myself  from  honorably  making  a  proffer 
to  you,  It  seemed  as  though  fate  had  left  me  nothing 


2o8  /  S  WEAR. 

but  to  act  as  I  did,  and  trust  that  time  would  give  you  an 
opportunity  to  know  the  real  truth. 

"  As  luck  would  have  it,  your  long  delayed  letter  from 
Dover  reached  me  at  a  time  when  I  had  demonstrated 
my  financial  independence  of  my  uncle  ;  then  it  was  I 
wrote  you  that  letter  from  Eton,  in  which  I  covertly  of- 
fered to  break  my  engagement  with  Miss  Brooke,  if  you 
would  give  me  a  word  of  encouragement.  As  you  know, 
you  never  answered  my  letter." 

At  this,  her  face  lighted  up  with  an  expression  of  joy 
— the  last  impediment  which  had  troubled  her  mind  was 
removed  by  the  thought :  "  He  never  received  my  an- 
swer !" 

Not  knowing  this,  he  continued :  "  And  nothing  was 
left  me  but  to  do  as  I  have  done." 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  the  deepest  sorrow,  as  the  whole  un- 
happy scene  came  back  to  him. 

How  different  his  thoughts,  had  he  been  able  to  read 
those  of  his  companion. 

"  Covertly  offered  to  break  his  engagement — never  re- 
ceived my  answer  —  "  were  running  through  her  mind. 
"  He  meant  what  his  letter  said  —  he  loves  me  !  "  She 
could  have  jumped  into  his  arms,  but  she  controlled  her- 
self, contented  to  wait  for  what  she  now  knew  the  de- 
nouement would  be.  What  a  change  those  few  words 
had  made.  Her  whole,  old  self  seemed  to  come  back. 
It  was  as  if  an  immense  restraining  weight  had  been  taken 
taken  off  her  soul,  allowing  the  old  buoyancy  of  feeling 
to  well  forth. 

Morrison  remembered  his  resolve  not  to  be  dramatic, 
and  hastily  checking  a  melancholy  tendency,  continued  : 

"  Finally,  however,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  give  up 
all  hope  of  ever  seeing  you,  and  to  return  to  the  Conti- 
nent. Had  not  my  eye  lighted  upon  that  notice  in  the 


I  S  WEAR.  209 

paper  this  morning,  I  probably  would  have  been  on  my 
way  there  now." 

He  had  done.  There  was  nothing  more  for  him  to 
say,  looking  at  the  matter  from  his  particular  point  of 
view  at  just  that  particular  moment.  However,  there 
was  yet  another  standpoint  from  which  the  circum- 
stances might  be  judged.  About  the  very  last  thing  he 
could  have  guessed  as  the  basis  of  Fanny's  mental  pro- 
cess, at  this  identical  moment,  was  the  precise  one  with 
which  her  mind  chanced  to  be  busied,  that  is, — wonder- 
ing how  fate  was  to  bring  about  their  engagement ;  for 
she  felt,  in  her  now  thoroughly  happy  mind,  that  it  was 
coming.  She  had  about  made  up  her  mind  to  precipitate 
matters,  when  she  determined  to  be  governed  by  their 
old  maxim,  and  let  fate  have  its  way  in  this,  as  it  had 
taken  so  much  upon  itself  in  her  past  connection  with 
her  great,  unhappy  lover,  who  had  been  so  much  to  her 
for  so  long  a  time. 

After  a  while  silence  became  embarrassing,  and  he 
said  : 

"  I  had  hoped  to  meet  you  in  a  parlor ;  and,  after  I  had 
made  myself  understood,  that  you  would  grant  me  one 
request." 

"  Which  was  ? "  she  said,  with  a  dash  of  her  old  chic, 
quite  surprising  to  him. 

"  That  you  would  take  your  guitar  ;  and,  as  a  last  re- 
quest, sing  me  '  Marguerite,'  as  you  did  in  the  Walling's 
conservatory  on  the  night  of  the  reception.  Do  you  re- 
member it  ? " 

His  voice  trembled. 

"  As  if  it  were  yesterday.    I  will  sing  it  for  you." 

"When?" 

"  Now.  I  left  my  guitar  in  the  cabin  of  my  cousin's 
yacht  the  other  night.  We  can  easily  swim  over  there 
and  get  it ;  I  know  where  he  keeps  the  key." 


2io  I  SWEAR. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  her.  He  had  deter- 
mined not  to  give  way  to  his  feelings  ;  that  he  would 
plainly  state  the  facts,  and  then  being  assured  that  he 
had  at  least  regained  her  respect,  would  follow  the  course 
he  had  marked  out ;  and  his  restrained  desire  to  break 
that  determination  made  him  very  nervous. 

She,  on  the  contrary,  was  perfectly  at  ease  ;  for,  know- 
ing what  the  end  was  to  be,  and  having  made  up  her 
mind  to  let  fate  have  its  way,  she  gave  up  all  idea  of  plan- 
ning, except  to  permit  that  long-troubled  soul  of  hers  to 
be  impulsively  happy  as  a  reward  for  its  fearful  punish- 
ment. 

Neither  spoke  a  word  as  they  quietly  swam  to  the 
"  Sea  Foam."  When  he  had  assisted  her  to  climb  on  deck, 
she  quickly  went  to  a  hidden  drawer  forward,  and  having 
procured  the  key,  unlocked  the  door  of  the  cabin. 

She  excused  herself  and  went  in  alone.  Morrison 
thought  she  was  gone  an  age.  In  reality  it  was  a  very 
few  moments. 

His  waiting  had  its  reward,  however,  for  when  she  ap- 
peared he  assured  himself  she  was  the  most  charming 
picture  he  had  even  seen. 

In  place  of  her  bathing  dress,  she  had  donned  a  com- 
plete tennis  suit  which  she  had  found  among  the  things 
they  had  not  yet  taken  ashore. 

Guitar  in  hand  she  made  a  perfect  picture  in  the  moon- 
light. Evidently  she  intended  to  stay,  for  she  tossed 
him  a  long  heavy  ulster,  saying,  "  Probably  you  will  find 
that  comfortable  over  your  wet  suit.  I  think  it  will  fit. 
Fred  is  about  your  size." 

Then  without  appearing  to  notice  the  effect  which  her 
fantasically  enticing  appearance  had  on  him,  she  sug- 
gested : 

"  Come  around  here  to  the  ship  chairs,  this  side  the 
cabin,  so  we  will  not  be  seen  from  the  shore." 


I  SWEAR.  211 

He  followed  her  forward  and  took  the  chair  to  which 
she  motioned.  She  leaned  against  the  rail  of  the 
schooner,  her  guitar  still  in  hand. 

Morrison  could  not  make  up  his  mind  what  to  do. 
Her  manner  gave  him  hope,  yet  he  felt  it  were  well  not 
to  delude  himself  with  false  promise. 

Had  she  studied  effects  all  her  life,  she  could  never 
have  made  a  more  enticing  picture  to  him  than  she  did 
leaning  there  against  that  rail  in  the  moonlight. 

"  And  you  want  to  hear  '  Marguerite '  ? "  she  asked. 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind." 

Oh,  how  that  sweet,  sad  song,  uttered  by  that  sweet, 
dear  voice,  moved  him  ! 

She  knew  it  would,  and  poured  all  the  feeling  her  well- 
trained  and  naturally  flexible  voice  was  capable  of  into 
the  song. 

As  she  finished  the  last  strain — "  And  oh  the  thought 
you'll  not  be  mine  will  break  my  heart,  Marguerite ! " 
he  would  have  given  his  fortune  to  have  taken  her  to  his 
heart.  She  was  singing  in  a  very  low  tone  to  avoid  at- 
tracting attention,  and  when  she  finished  she  resumed 
her  former  position  at  the  rail,  and  lazily  looked  at  her 
lover. 

Morrison  sat  as  if  riveted  to  his  seat. 

Neither  spoke  for  a  time.  Finally  her  face  lit  up  with 
a  smiling  look  of  determination.  Evidently  she  was  go- 
ing to  help  fate. 

She  stood  erect  and  asked  : 

"  Paul,  can  I  sing  you  another  song  ? " 

That  "  Paul "  nearly  took  him  off  his  feet,  or  rather  off 
his  chair. 

His  heart  leaped  into  his  mouth.  He  could  not  readily 
believe  his  senses. 

He  had  a  fleeting  idea  of  speaking  something  of  his 


212  /  SWEAR. 

feelings,  but  dismissed  the  thought  as  ill-advised  and  con- 
tented himself  with, 

"Certainly." 

She  saw  that  she  had  "met  the  enemy  and  he  was 
hers,"  and  after  several  times  picking  the  accompaniment 
to  "  Dear  Heart,"  a  song  which  had  become  very  dear  to 
her  because  she  had  practiced  it  so  many  times  with  the 
same  dear  old  fellow  before  her,  in  her  mind,  she  began 
to  sing : 

"  So  long  the  day,  so  dark  the  day, 

Dear  heart,  before  you  came, 
It  seems  to  me  it  cannot  be, 

The  world  is  still  the  same, 
For  then  I  stood  as  in  some  wood 

And  vainly  sought  for  light, 
But  now  day  dawns  on  sunlit  lawns, 

And  life  is  glad  and  bright." 

Then,  summoning  all  her  power,  she  drifted  into  the 
chorus,  as  if  pleading  to  him  : 

"Leave  me  not,  oh  leave  me  not, 

Dear  heart,  dear  heart  ! 
I  did  not  dream  that  we  should  part, 
I  love  but  thec,  oh,  love  thou  me 
And  leave  and  leave  me  not, 
Dear  heart,  dear  heart, 
Leave  me  not,  dear  heart." 

He  could  not  imagine  what  to  do. 

He  felt  that  she  could  not  be  trifling  at  such  a  time  as 
this,  yet  he  could  not  hope  that  all  the  song  and  manner 
implied  was  really  true. 

She  saw  his  emotion,  and  realized  that  the  despond- 
ency which  fate's  unkind  treatment  had  put  on  his  cour- 
age was  preventing  him  from  acting  as  his  heart  dictated. 
She  determined  to  assist  him  further. 

"  I  said  I  wanted  to  ask  you  a  few  questions.     May  I  ? " 

"  Certainly." 


I  SWEAR.  213 

"Did  you  mean  everything  you  said  in  that  letter  from 
Eton  ? " 

"  Every  word ! "  he  answered,  in  a  tone  that  would 
have  carried  conviction  with  it,  even  if  she  had  not  been 
already  convinced. 

"What  would  you  say  if  I  said  I  had  answered  it  ?" 

"Answered  my  letter?"  he  shouted,  as  he  jumped  to 
his  feet — '-'  Then  it  must  have  been  lost ! " 

At  last  he  hoped  again,  and  with  that  hope  came  cour- 
age. 

"And  may  I  ask  what  you  said  in  it?" 

This  was  her  chance  ;  he  now  stood  almost  beside  her, 
his  handsome,  manly  figure  showing  to  better  advantage 
than  ever  in  the  rough  old  r;ea  coat.  All  the  pent-up 
love  for  the  man  whom  fate,  by  fantastic  tricks,  had  kept 
from  her  so  long,  exhibited  itself  in  her  voice  as  she 
replied  : 

"  That  I  loved  you  ! " 

"Fanny  !  "  was  all  he  could  say  as  he  took  her  in  his 
arms. 

What  joy  there  was  in  expressing  their  pent-up  love. 

In  that  embrace  the  better,  grander  nature  of  each 
seemed  to  tell  the  other  they  were  nevermore  to  part. 
After  a  time  he  released  her  sufficiently  to  say  : 

"  But  we  must  not  do  this,  must  we  ? " 

"Not  unless  we  are  engaged,"  she  answered  with  the 
old  twinkle  in  her  eye. 

"  Well,  then,  let  me  propose — Miss  Northrop,  will  you 
marry  me  ? " 

With  an  appreciation  of  the  fact  that,  at  last,  they 
understood  each  other.,  that  all  this  old  omnipresent 
yearning  for  a  love  she  felt  belonged  to  but  could  not  be 
claimed  by  her,  was  over,  came  back  her  willful  playful- 
ness, and  she  asked  in  a  cheery  way : 

"Are  your  intentions  honorable  ? " 


214  I  SWEAR. 

He  caught  the  spirit  and  answered  : 

"  They  are." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  I  swear  it." 

"Then,"  she  said,  as  she  took  his  hands  to  make  him 
automatically  gesticulate  to  suit  her  words,  "  do  as  Wa- 
wona  did  with  her  father.  Put  your  left  hand  on  my 
heart  and  hold  your  right  hand  —  "  he  interrupted  her 
with  an  embrace,  for  as  she  had  taken  his  left  hand  and 
put  it  on  her  heart  in  conformity  with  her  words,  the  first 
touch  of  that  wildly  beating  organ  was  too  much  for  the 
lover's  warm  blood  to  resist.  He  had  better  use  for  his 
right  hand,  and  his  left  hand  was  with  it. 

Presently  she  withdrew  herself  sufficiently  from  his 
embrace  to  look  him  full  in  the  face,  and  said,  with  an 
affectation  of  earnestness : 

"Well,  I  am  convinced,  you  need  not  swear." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  entirely  releasing  her  from  his 
arms,  as  he  felt  that  she  had  meant  that  as  a  hint  to  re- 
turn from  the  realms  of  bliss  to  this  mundane  sphere. 

The  next  instant  the  thought  came  to  him  : 

"How  are  we  to  break  the  news  to  her  aunt?"  and 
immediately  the  further  thought,  "  I  had  better  be  abso- 
lutely certain  of  my  engagement  first,"  so  he  said  : 

"But  I  want  an  answer  to  my  question.  Will  you 
marry  me  ?  Do  you  love  me  ? 

"  With  all  my  heart,  and  all  my  might,  and  all  my  soul. 
So  much  so  that  all  the  trips  to  Europe  and  all  the  trips 
to  California  that  father  could  plan,  could  not  make  me 
forget  you." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  jokingly,  as  soon  as  he  had  completed 
an  embrace  which  the  occasion  seemed  to  require,  "  I 
suppose  I  need  not  ask  you  to  swear?" 

"Well,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  with  an  exagger- 


I  SWEAR.  215 

atedly  earnest  look  on  her  face,  "  I  will  if  you  want  me 
to." 

"  All  right,  then,  I  want  you  to,"  he  answered,  the 
smile  on  his  face  showing  at  last  that  he  was  thoroughly 
eu  rapport  with  her  happy  mood. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  if  I  must  I  rn^st,"  she  answered,  the 
look  of  piquant  deviltry  which  came  to  her  eyes  showing 
that  the  old,  happy  Fanny  Northrop  of  four  years  before 
had  entirely  returned. 

With  that  she  drew  herself  close  to  him,  put  her  mouth 
up  to  his  ear  and  roguishly  asked  : 

"  Do  you  really  insist  ? '' 

"I  do." 

"  Well,  then,"  she  whispered  : 

"  Damn." 


THE   END. 


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